


They Came From 4

by Ndfarmer80



Category: La Femme Nikita
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:54:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 47,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24810388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ndfarmer80/pseuds/Ndfarmer80
Summary: Section One is under attack. Someone has leaked information about the locations of their substations. Now Section is being audited to find the mole. Oversight has sent 2 representatives to conduct the investigation. The last time that Section played host to someone from Section Four, it nearly destroyed them. Their new guests are little older, and a little more dangerous...
Kudos: 2





	1. Chapter 1

They Came From Four

  
  
  


The explosion was felt throughout the entirety of everyone standing in Communications. Not a word was spoken as eyes watched an inferno engulf what once was a Section One substation located in Sheffield, England. The office building and all of its personnel were reduced to rubble within minutes. A moment later, phones began ringing incessantly. Operations, his face blanched from alarm, answered his cellular phone buzzing in his jacket breast pocket. 

  
  


“Yes. I’ve just seen,” said Operations, his tone very grave but firm. “No. We had no knowledge, but we did suspect something.”

  
  


Operations walked away from the few operatives gathered in Communications. His tall, dark frame and silvery white hair disappeared down the hall heading up to Command. Birkoff, the young Communications Supervisor, looked wide eyed behind rose tinted glasses. His pink lips maintained an oh of surprise as he looked at the burning mess of the substation. Behind him, Michael stood with his arms folded about himself. Unlike all the others standing about him, his expression was neither surprised or shocked. He held no expression at all, staring at the monitors as if looking at a blank screen. His light eyes shifted slightly towards Birkoff, considering his temperament before turning and leaving from Communications. 

  
  


Birkoff sat a moment longer, ingesting the scene he just witnessed before switching the monitor off. He had barely caught his breath when the explosion happened. Even though he had expected the attack, and had warned the operatives inside to be aware of some sort of affront, he did not expect them to be blown to pieces. The information that eventually came across the lines only alluded to the fact that a substation had been identified and was likely going to be targeted. No one knew how it was that the location of the substation had been acquired, but that was the least of concerns as operatives were scrambled together to relocate them and prepare them for an assault. The attack had occurred hours after the alert was made known and even then, it was not known which station would be hit. 

  
  


“What’s the next location?”

  
  


Birkoff looked up from his computer and saw Madeline, Section’s lead strategist, approaching him. Her dark hair was pulled into a tight bun positioned at the base of her skull exposing her face fully and making her appear very severe. Her dark eyes went swiftly over his monitor, studying the coordinates for the next three possible targeted locations. Birkoff repositioned himself so that Madeline could get a better view of his screen without having to stretch over him. As she pushed in closer to him, he noticed her perfume, a sweet musk that lent itself towards visions of burned sandalwood and amber. The tiny diamond studs in her ears hinted at a more delicate disposition, but like her intentions, they nearly disappeared within the wisps of her heavy dark brown tresses. Birkoff moved himself back a little more, not desiring to be so close. 

  
  


“Send an alert to all substations. Have them enact evac protocols. We need to assume that every station now is going to be under remote attack.”

  
  


Madeline typed in her own alerts to the department heads and sent it out on encrypted communication lines. She righted herself and patted Birkoff on the back as he wheeled himself back into place. She looked up into Command, spying Operations pacing and speaking into his headset on the phone with his superiors. There was a look of concern on her otherwise placid face as she considered the old commander. She looked back down at Birkoff and gave him a half grin. 

  
  


“Let me know when they have confirmed the order,” said Madeline before leaving Communications. 

  
  


Birkoff nodded and began working on sending out the necessary communications to all substation agencies in an encrypted message. He checked his watch and noted that it would take nearly five to ten minutes for all the personnel at all the substations to get the message and begin necessary actions to ensure the safety of the remaining operatives posted within them. He turned to stand and nearly ran face first into Michael’s chest. He jumped, startled to find the Level 5 operative standing so close to him silently watching what he was doing. 

  
  


“What’s up?” said Birkoff, adjusting his glasses and trying to sound unaffected. 

  
  


Michael, his steel gaze examining the incoming messaging from the various stations, said nothing at first. Birkoff waited, knowing the only reason why Michael would ever return to Communications was to relay a message. He was never the type to stand about for random chit chat. His presence, like Madeline’s, always made him a little nervous. For as long as he often worked with the both of them, he could not get used to them being around him. Maybe it was the quiet way in which they floated about Section, like ghosts wandering between the living and the dead, or possibly it was how icy they both came off. It could have been the mere fact that both would no sooner smile at him than put a bullet in his head if he managed to cross them in some way. It was no secret that Madeline was a bit of a sadist when it came to her methods of information extraction. As far as Michael, he made it perfectly clear that he cared little for life, if he cared about it at all. He held no issue with snuffing out any life if ordered in much the same regard as an exterminator concerned himself with the life of the rodent he was sent to exterminate. At the moment, Michael simply stood in Communications reading and doing little else. When he was done, he turned on his slick black heels and walked towards Command.

  
  


The next few hours were intense with messages flooding the lines from the department heads of each substation inquiring about what actions they should take next. Birkoff downloaded several panels and began setting them up for the flash mission already in play. A team of operatives were suiting up in Munitions with Walter as he issued out weapons. Birkoff stacked the panels and carried them over to Walter’s station. 

  
  


“This is all I have so far from what I was able to decipher,” said Birkoff, handing the panels to Walter. “The first alert came from a group based somewhere in Glasgow.”

Michael took one of the panels. “Are the coordinates confirmed?”

“The signature from the missile strike came back positive for this area here,” said Birkoff, pointing to an area very close to the city’s eastern outer limits. “Looks like it could be an old warehouse or industrial park of some kind. You’ll need to be careful going in. We don’t have any intel about the area’s layout yet. We should have it within the hour though.”

  
  


“As soon as you get it,” said Michael without needing to finish the rest of the sentence. He looked at Walter. “Are these equipped with night scopes?”

  
  


“Of course,” said Walter, looking a little offended that he was asked the question. “This isn’t my first rodeo, son.”

  
  


Michael gave a slight smirk, barely moving the corners of his lips before collecting his equipment and starting towards Transport. Birkoff watched as Michael headed out with a rag-tag team of available operatives collected from various teams lingering about Section. 

  
  


“Where’s Nikita?” Birkoff asked Walter after the team disappeared down the hall. 

  
  


“Didn’t have time to call her in,” Walter answered. “My guess, she’s still at home.”

  
  


“Oh,” was all Birkoff could say. He turned back towards his station. 

  
  


“Hey! You okay?” asked Walter, noticing the sullen look crossing over Birkoff’s face. 

  
  


“Yeah, of course,” said Birkoff then offered a smile. 

  
  


“You just look a little rattled.”

  
  


Birkoff shrugged. “I’m cool. Just still a little thrown from seeing that substation blow up. All those operatives. Just gone, you know. It’s kinda sobering.”

  
  


Walter took a moment to consider Birkoff’s words. He rubbed his aged face, seemingly wiping away the years of seeing just as many operatives die in fireballs as they did from bullets. He sighed heavily, pushing his hands into the pockets of his jean jacket. 

  
  


“Yeah...It’s pretty sad,” said Walter in a breath. “But I guess on the bright side, they didn’t suffer...much.”

  
  


“Yeah,” Birkoff laughed. “Guess that’s how we would all want to go, right.”

  
  


Before Birkoff could realize what he had just said, he noticed a look pass over Walter’s face. He remembered then what Walter was likely remembering and instantly regretted having said it. 

  
  


“Oh man, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”

  
  


“Don’t worry about it,” said Walter, giving Birkoff an assuring smile. “I know what you meant.”

  
  


Birkoff nodded. Walter returned to his work area, disappearing into the deeper bowels of Munitions where the armory was kept. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


Nikita walked into Section noticing a very different feeling inside. Operatives milled about the main floor seemingly aimless in their pursuits. She noticed there were many of them, some of which she had not seen at Section in months. She wondered why it was that they were all suddenly there. She walked towards Communications to Birkoff’s desk where he was seated looking insanely busy juggling several monitors and two computers. From the look of him, he had not had much sleep. He looked flushed as he maneuvered from one monitor to the next. There were obvious sweat stains in his pea green graphic t-shirt, and his tan cargo pants looked as though they had never known an iron. 

  
  


“What the hell is going on?” asked Nikita, removing her shades and hooking them down the front of her top. 

  
  


She had opted to put on a yellow button down top, black liquid leather pants, and black square heeled boots. Her blonde hair was playfully separated into twin ponytails secured with leather ties. The warm spring weather outside followed her indoors making the main floor of Section somewhat uncomfortably hot. 

  
  


“You didn’t get my message?” said Birkoff. He hurriedly flipped on a switch turning on a bank of monitors. 

  
  


“What message?” Nikita looked around Communications, noticing the swirl of activity continuing as Birkoff began loading panels into the monitors. 

  
  


“We’re being audited,” said Birkoff, pushing past Nikita to get to a computer just behind her. 

  
  


“Audited?”

  
  


Birkoff barely took a moment to look at Nikita as she stood in the middle of his work area looking confused and a little afraid. His brown eyes found her and held her for a split second.

“Section is cleaning house. They want everything. Every communication, every data transfer, every intel share we’ve ever done. They want it all so they can send it to Oversight to be scrubbed. That’s why everyone is here. To clear their terminals and send their transcripts to me to upload. Read your panel. It’s all there,” he said, slightly irritated. “Better yet, go talk to Michael. He’s in his office.”

  
  


Nikita drew back a little, noting the manner in which Birkoff had addressed her. Normally, he would never be so brass. He usually spoke with her with some degree of sensitivity. However, today, he seemed all out of tact and was running on fumes of diplomacy. Birkoff did little to convince her further that he would take time to explain anything more. Nikita retreated from Communications and headed pensively towards Michael’s office. All about her, operatives moved in and out of areas busy with various activities and looking as if they were about to go to their deaths. Nikita spied Michael inside his office, seated at his desk, also looking very engaged at his monitor. There was a very hard expression on his face, one that she knew much too well meant that he was both worried and annoyed, but covering it with a tight lipped guise. She knocked on his door, preparing herself.

  
  


“It’s open.”

  
  


Nikita opened the door and walked into Michael’s office. He glanced quickly up towards her before landing his gaze back at his monitor. Nikita closed the door behind her and stood with her hands clasped in front of her. She waited while Michael reached under his desk and pulled out a panel. He typed in a code to secure the room jamming any listening or recording devices before indicating with his eyes that she was free to speak. 

  
  


“You called me in this morning,” Nikita began slowly. “I thought it was for a regular briefing, but when I get here, the place is a madhouse. What’s going on?” 

  
  


“Sit down,” said Michael flatley. 

  
  


Nikita paused a moment before sitting down in the chair in front of Michael’s desk. He continued to type on his keyboard, seemingly ignoring the fact that she was there to speak with him. After a few more keystrokes, he exited the program he was working on and fixed his crystal eyes on Nikita. She drew in a breath. No matter how often she sat in front of Michael, she could never get used to the way he looked at her whenever he needed to tell her something serious. 

  
  


“Have you reviewed your panel?” Michael asked. 

  
  


“No. I just came in. I haven’t had time to look at anything yet,” Nikita answered honestly. “Birkoff told me we were being audited.”

  
  


“Yes. We are,” Michael confirmed solemnly. 

  
  


“So, Section has been audited before. Why is everyone running about like their heads are about to be cut off?”

  
  


“Because they just might be,” Michael answered, getting up from his seat. 

  
  


By habit, he began buttoning his jacket with one hand. Nikita watched him with careful attention as he circled the desk, drifting silently behind her then coming to a pause at his window. He looked out the half closed blinds at the activity going on outside his door. There were no recruits in the training area. It was eerily absent of even a single person working out.

  
  


“It’s a full personnel audit. Oversight believes there is a mole within the organization feeding intel to other terrorist agencies looking to eliminate Section. One substation has already been destroyed.”

“Which one?” asked Nikita.

“Sheffield.”

Nikita repeated the words silently. She had known a few operatives stationed at the location. Some were new recruits. She closed her eyes, feeling the weight of the situation and briefly mourned the losses.

  
  


Michael turned to Nikita, giving more meaning to his words. Nikita swallowed hard, digesting the seriousness of the matter. Michael crossed to the other side of the room where his terminal and a bank of monitors were positioned against the wall. He typed on the keyboard and produced the last communicated message from a targeted substation located near Belfast.

  
  


“We lost communication with our station in Belfast nearly twelve hours ago. A team has already been sent to the area, however, we are not sure exactly what we will find. We’ve been up all night with this. I’ve only just returned from Glasgow.”

  
  


“Has anything been found?” Nikita studied the information displayed on Michael’s monitor. As far as she could assume, they were only monitoring the remaining substations as many of them were now dark.

  
  


“We were able to seize one hostile,” Michael said. “Madeline has been with him all morning.”

  
  


“So what do you need me to do?” Nikita stood up, readying herself for whatever task Michael would issue her.

  
  


“Back up your terminal. Download your communication files and send them to Birkoff,” said Michael. “Operations has called in all agents from the field to be evaluated. Everyone is on Close Quarters.”

  
  


“For how long?” Nikita put her hands on her hips.

  
  


“For however long the audit lasts. We’re waiting now for the representatives to arrive.” 

  
  


Michael turned to Nikita fully and placed his hands in front of him so that she saw that he was not hiding anything from her. His eyes also told her that he was being as honest as he could manage. Nikita rested her arms and mimicked his stance.

  
  


“I take it this is going to be a long and extensive inspection of everyone at Section.”

  
  


“Everyone that would have any access to our files and databases,” said Michael evenly. “They feel the information leaked came from the inside.”

  
  


“I suppose once they find who they are looking for, they will return everything and everyone back to normal?”

  
  


“Maybe,” said Michael. He took a step closer. “This isn’t just about finding a mole, Nikita. They are going to weed out anyone that has had any thought, notion, or even the slightest imagining against what Section is.”

  
  


“An inquisition,” said Nikita.

  
  


Michael did not answer, but he did not have to. The look on his face was all the answer that Nikita needed. She bit down on her lip, realizing the gravity of his words. 

  
  


“If they are looking for anyone with a thought against Section, that’s going to be the entire building. They might as well cancel us all if that’s the case”

  
  


“They can’t do that,” Michael answered quickly. “But they will make an example to dissuade others.”

  
  


Nikita looked at Michael, noticing his distress skillfully hidden behind deadened eyes. He could throw others from his true emotions, but she had learned enough from him to know the subtle telltale signals he gave towards his innermost thoughts. She took a step towards him, leaving only a small amount of distance between them to continue to appear as though they were not giving each other any type of comfort. In reality, their nearness to one another was support enough without actually physically touching. 

  
  


“You think this is another ploy for them to come at us?” Nikita put words to the silent ones Michael would not say.

  
  


“No, but I think we should be very careful about what we say and what we do.”

  
  


“And apparently, what we think.” Nikita turned away, feeling annoyed by the many different traps Section continually placed in her way. She shook her head and breathed out a sigh. “So what should I do now?”

  
  


“Order a pod,” said Michael. “Try to relax.”

  
  


Nikita gave a little laugh to his suggestion. They both knew she would not be doing very much relaxing. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


Madeline, Operations, and Michael stood at Transport waiting for their guests to arrive. Madeline, having let down her hair to rest on her shoulders, stood in a black pants suit, low heeled pumps, and her maroon lip in perfect place. Beside her, Operations adopted a stand that looked more in sinct with a soldier awaiting a superior officer. His chin was lifted allowing his steel colored eyes to look down through the thin windows of his wire rimmed glasses. His silvery white hair was combed back neatly giving him the most impressive, authoritative appearance. Standing a few paces back was Michael, quietly waiting with his hands clasped behind him, his gaze focused more on the doors than any one person standing within the hall. Two Section Control Officers flanked him, sharing the same blank expression as Michael. Behind the automatic doors, the sound of the Transport elevator signalled the arrival of their guests. Operations stiffened slightly. Madeline cut a glance at him, gauging his temperament. The doors opened. 

  
  


Two young people walked out from the Clearance area. One was a young man, looking no more than eighteen. He had straight shoulder length black hair, deep brown eyes, and full lips. His cheekbones were high and his eyes slightly almond shaped hinting at a North American Indian heritage. He was dressed in a simple black leather jacket, grey t-shirt, and dark denim jeans. He regarded the welcome entourage with silent wariness before stepping aside to allow in his counterpart. She looked about the same age, with a near completely shorn head leaving a mere shadow of black hair to cover her perfectly round head. Her full brows and cat-like dark eyes gave her an exotic look, coupled with her equally voluptuous lips and Nubian features. She was dressed a bit more casually than her partner, choosing to wear a sporty black and white cropped top, low rise black leather cargo pants, and sneaker style high heel boots. Black lipstick painted over her lips while a single white line adorned the middle of her forehead. A single silver crescent cuffed her left ear while a black opal stud rested in her right earlobe. She extended a black fingernailed hand to Operations and smiled. 

  
  


“Pleasure to make your acquaintance,” the girl said rather formally. 

  
  


Operations, taking the young girl in, hesitated before shaking her offered hand. 

  
  


“I had expected someone else to come from Section Four,” said Operations. 

  
  


“That someone else is undergoing further evaluation,” the girl responded with meaning. “It was thought it might be better to send someone with a bit more...experience for this particular assignment. Given your Section’s last experience with us, we thought it more reasonable to send older, more mature representatives.”

  
  


“Is that why they sent two of you?” Operations could not help expressing his suspicion. 

  
  


“We work as one,” the girl responded, unmoved by Operations’ cynicism. “I could have come alone, but given the type and extent to which Oversight desired the report, I would need my counterpart to assist.”

  
  


The girl looked over at the young man standing next to her and gave him a slight smile. His eyes shifted towards her, relaying something between them before focusing his attention back down the hall towards where Michael and the Control Officers stood. Michael’s eyes furrowed, studying the young man. 

  
  


“Well,” said Operations rocking back on his heels. “We have set up accommodations for you and your partner. It’s not the Ritz, but you have been provided all that your superiors stated you would require. Michael will escort you to your rooms. We can have a small briefing in, say, one hour?”

  
  


“That will be fine,” said the girl.

  
  


Operations looked at Madeline, almost forgetting she was standing beside him. 

  
  


“This is Madeline. She will be your aid with all our personnel profiles.”

  
  


“Pleasure to meet you. I’m Delilah. This is Sam.” The young girl shook Madeline’s hand then stepped out the way for the young man to do the same. 

  
  


“I’m sure we will work well together during this process,” said Madeline.

  
  


“Shall we?” Operations gestured down the hall towards Michael. 

  
  


The young couple followed behind Michael and the Control Officers heading into Section. Behind them, Operations cast a wary look at Madeline. 

  
  


“Teenagers this time,” said Operations with a skeptical grin. 

  
  


“Well,” said Madeline, “At least it wasn’t another kid.”

  
  


Operations nodded, starting down the hall into Section. “I half expected them to send another like the one before.”

  
  


Madeline fell into stride with Operations. “Could be worse. They could’ve sent a baby.”

  
  


“I don’t know. Considering George’s crude sense of humor these days, he likely did send us the equivalent to an impetuous toddler. Two teenagers with psychic abilities that need one another to work? We thought we were overwhelmed with Nikita and Michael.”

  
  


“Perhaps these two won’t be as...stubborn as they are. After all, Four does have a special way in which they treat their populace. They allow coupling to enhance the powers of their subjects. Although there are two of them, we really are only dealing with one mind.”

  
  


The two rounded into the main floor area of Section, stopping in the very center of the room. Around them, operatives continued their duties, angling their eyes towards the authoritarian figures with conscious awareness of them. 

  
  


“I do hope you are right about that,” said Operations. “It was enough to recover from one mind having its way with me. Don’t know if I could survive two.” 

  
  


Madeline smiled thoughtfully. “I don’t know, Paul. You seemed to heal up pretty well afterwards.”

  
  


“Only because I had a very special nurse looking after me.” Operations returned her thoughtful smile before turning on his heels. “Be in my office in a half hour. I need a full status report on those substations.”

  
  


“Certainly.”

  
  


The two went their separate ways heading towards their respective offices.

* * *

  
  
  


Birkoff sat tapping his pen against the edge of his desk, juggling watching the monitors above him and the open surveillance screen on his terminal. The small square showed the two new guests just arrived from Section Four setting up their rooms. Within the split screen the guy put away his clothing while the girl did the same in near identical movements. The two looked like the exact opposite of one another yet they moved simultaneously as if synced. Birkoff shook himself, trying to get rid of the eerie feeling he got from watching the two in their rooms. The guy, he noticed, gave him the same offputting feel as Michael often exuded. There was an icy balance about him that made him less approachable and oddly unnerving. Where Michael could, at times, warm himself in necessary situations, the young guy from Four did not seem to be able to do so at will. He held a continuous iceberg effect that did not melt even with the appearance of his occasional smile. Even with the smile, it was never directed at anyone save the girl he came with. She seemed to be the only one that garnered his caring expression for as much as he could express care. The girl, however, did intrigue Birkoff. She was vibrant and full of the life that was absent from her counterpart. Even though they moved in near exact motions, her actions seemed to carry a flourish of added color and brilliance that drew Birkoff to her screen. 

Like Nikita, she preferred color and playful accessories. Birkoff could see from the limited view of the cameras her put away funky style pants and graphic t-shirts designed in such a way to show off her midsection. When she finally finished putting away her wardrobe, she landed on her back on the bed and stared up at the ceiling. On the side-by-side screen, her counterpart was lying down in much the same way, his hands on his stomach, staring up into nothing. Then the two turned their heads as if turning towards one another, and closed their eyes. A serene look passed over the guy's face while a more concentrated look fell across the girl. Birkoff wondered what it was that was happening between them then. 

"What are you doing?"

Birkoff, startled, looked up from his terminal to see Nikita circling around his desk. He attempted to close the surveillance screen, but it was too late. Nikita was already looking at what he had been eyeing. 

"Are you spying on them?" Nikita asked with an air of teasing suspicion. 

"No, not really," Birkoff attempted to cover, but he could tell by the way Nikita was looking at him that his lie had failed. "I was just..."

"Spying on them," Nikita finished with a devilish grin. 

Birkoff flushed a little. He clicked off the surveillance video and returned his attention back to his work. The team that had been sent to Belfast were due to report in. So far, nothing was heard from both the substation and the team sent to check on them. Nikita leaned against a table behind Birkoff's desk and crossed her ankles. Her double braids fell over her shoulders. She regarded Birkoff with a knowing smirk as she handed him her panel with all of her data files copied to it. 

"You think they are going to be like the kid was?" asked Birkoff, taking the panel and setting it aside with a stack of others.

"I don't think so," said Nikita. "This is a completely different situation. I doubt those two are going to be playing on jungle gyms later."

"The guy. He seems pretty intense. Have you met them yet?" Birkoff rolled the ball of his sneakers so that he twisted his chair back and forth somewhat playfully. He played with his ink pen between his fingertips.

"I haven't met either of them," Nikita admitted. "Michael was the one to take them to their quarters."

"Did he say anything about them?" Birkoff could already answer his own question, but he could not help asking.

"Course not," said Nikita almost dismissively. "I haven't spoken to Michael either, for that matter." 

Birkoff returned his attention back to the monitors. The team sent to Belfast finally confirmed their arrival. Nikita watched as Birkoff slipped on his headset and began talking with the infield team. She tilted her head, enjoying watching the young Communications expert fall effortlessly into his work, moving fluidly about his desk with such precision and ease, it was almost like watching a ballet. He floated over his keyboard with lightning fast fingers and spouted off coordinates and dialogue that would dizzy the untrained mind. Nikita picked herself up from the desk and quietly excused herself from the area. She threw a glance up towards Command, noticing Operations and Madeline having a very in depth conversation. Below, Michael’s office was empty. She wondered where he might be hiding as she made her way towards the lounge. 

Being at Section full time for her was both anxiously nerve wrecking and numbingly boring. When there was nothing really for her to do, she found herself wondering about the levels peeking into doors and halls discovering new places where operatives could and could not go. She figured she could get in a good workout while she waited about for the evaluations to begin. She could not sit for hours inside her pod. It felt too much like a coffin. She reasoned Michael was likely taking a small break to either nap or swim in Section’s infinity pool only recently installed in the gym. Given the energy in the building, it was unlikely Michael would be anywhere but holed up in some abandoned conference room attempting to settle his mind. She felt she should do the same, but was finding it increasingly hard to calm down enough to focus. 

Since their last run-in with one of Section Four’s denizens, she was aware of some of the more abnormal enterprises Section as a whole was involved in. Up until a few months ago, she had never known there was such a thing as telekinesis or telepathy. She had always thought it was some science fiction nonsense put in movies to make characters more fantastical, like Superman’s ability to fly and Aquaman’s talent for speaking to fish. When Jerome showed up at their doorstep, she never believed any of it was possible. That was until Jerome decided to prove her innermost apprehensions completely wrong. With just the will and force of his mind, Jerome had brought both Operations and all of Section to its knees. He nearly destroyed the entire organization in one day out of frustration and what amounted to a simple temper tantrum. The young boy had little understanding about what was actually happening with him as his emotions and hormones were spiralling him out of control. She supposed for the first time he was allowed to be outside of Section and see the world in a way he had never before experienced it. He had been in a world of adults his entire life, never knowing what it felt like to eat ice cream or ride a bike. Madeline and Operations wanted him to do their work and treated him like a tool. When he would not work the way they thought he should, they threatened him like he was one of their other operatives even going as far as locking him up. Nikita never agreed with the way in which Jerome was treated, and she fully understood his lashing out, especially against the ones that treated him with the least amount of compassion. His words to Michael, although not very lethal, had cut him to the core tearing away at the most sensitive part within him. When Jerome finally left, Michael continued to feel the effects of his words. He spent weeks after, stewing in renewed feelings of loss and regret from losing his son. 

Nikita grabbed a cup of coffee and a snack from the vending machines. She sat down at one of the small round tables and began to eat, allowing her mind to meander over other thoughts and memories. There were others in the lounge, but they were coupled away in their own hushed conversations. Without really wanting to, her mind travelled her back to the time Section allowed her to be released out into the real world for a time. Leaving Section seemed like a dream come true and yet it felt oddly heartbreaking at the same time. She was allowed to say goodbye to Walter and to Birkoff, and eventually, to Michael, but the freedom did not last long. It wasn’t long before Section came calling back in the form of George wanting her to do his devious little deed of murdering Operations. She wanted to believe that she could be released out into the world, no strings, and no debts owed, but like everything else attached to Section, it was a lie. When she returned, it was as if she had never left. Madeline continued to play mind games and Operations, once more, lorded his perceived victory over George when she could not kill him. After everything that Section had done to both her and Michael, and everyone else, she could not bring herself to cut down the one man that held their lives in the palm of his boney grasp. And now it seemed there would be no need to sneak about, plan and strategize a way out. One recommendation from the dual telepaths and anyone with a thought against Section would be cancelled. Michael had said they would not move against everyone, but they would make an example of someone. Nikita had no doubt that someone could very well be her. 

  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  


“Have they started evaluations?” Birkoff asked Walter seeing him coming from the direction of the interrogation rooms on Level Four. 

Walter rubbed the back of his head, flipping his long salt and pepper ponytail out from under the collar of his leather jacket. He grimaced a little before answering. 

“Yeah, they just took the first few back to the White Room,” said Walter.

Birkoff looked a little concerned as he looked off in the direction where Walter had just come from. His rose tinted glasses did little to hide his curiosity.

“Look, it’s not at all what you’re thinking,” said Walter. “From what I could see, they have everyone going in one by one to sit down in the chair. You don’t say anything. You don’t do anything. You just sit.”

“And then what? They don’t ask you questions?”

“From what I could tell, no,” said Walter. “They let those funny kids touch you and that’s it. That’s the whole thing. Now, I don’t know what all happens when they touch you. Won’t know that until it’s my turn to sit.”

“You think they can know your every thought? Like what you might have thought at one time before but maybe not so much now?” 

Walter shrugged. “I don’t know. If they touched me right now, they might send me directly to the gas chambers just for being a dirty old man.” 

Walter laughed and patted Birkoff on the shoulder. 

“Don’t worry too much about it. They aren’t looking for people that think bad about their job. Almost everyone hates what they do or has an ill thing to say about their job at some point in their careers. They are looking for the mole. That’s it. As long as you aren’t the one that was leaking information to terrorist cells, you don’t have anything to worry about.”

Walter ended his talk with Birkoff by patting him once more and sauntering off towards his work station. Birkoff looked after Walter before heading off towards his quarters at Level Six. He opted to travel through the back stairwell instead of taking the elevators. Normally he would take the elevators, but with so many operatives inside of Section, he did not want to end up riding with anyone. He wanted to be alone with his thoughts, and given that he was allowed a short three hour break from his workstation to recharge, eat, and maybe catch a nap, he was grateful for the solitude. 

As he reached the level where his quarters were located, he noticed there was someone hanging about in the shadows. Birkoff slowed and peered into the darkness seeing the person standing back against the railing was a girl. Birkoff righted himself and cautiously approached her. He noticed right away that she was not like any of the other operatives in Section. Her head was completely shaved with only a whisper of dark hair atop her perfectly round head. She turned to him and captured him instantly with almond shaped amber eyes. She drew close to him quickly, closing the distance between them. Birkoff instinctually backed up against the railing.

“You’re Seymour aren’t you,” said the young female telepath. 

Birkoff barely grabbed his own breath. He let out a short squeak in response, then cleared his throat and tried again to answer. 

“Y-yes. They call me Birkoff though. You can call me that, too if you like.”

“Birkoff,” she repeated, her eyes trailing over him slowly. “You run Communications. But you’re not much older than me.”

Birkoff adjusted his glasses. The girl stepped back from him and folded her arms over her chest. Birkoff took a moment to fully appreciate the young girl’s form as she stood in front of him. He smiled and drew in a more confident breath. 

“Some might call me gifted,” said Birkoff, pushing his chest out just a little. “Not a lot of people my age can do what I can do.”

“Not a lot of people can do what I do,” she repeated with meaning. “You’re different, though. You are special.”

“Thanks,” Birkoff said within a nervous laugh. “Um...What’s your name?”

“Delilah.” The girl kept her gaze steady with Birkoff.

“Delilah. That’s pretty,” said Birkoff. “What are you doing?”

“Taking a break. Same as you.”

Birkoff nodded, realizing Delilah could read his thoughts and know things about him without being told them. The idea made him feel stripped and uneasy around her suddenly. He moved from the railing and took a step towards the door to head into the corridor. 

“Everything going well so far?” 

Delilah smiled, tilting her head. “You don’t have to try and make small talk with me, Seymour. Just ask me what you really want to ask.”

Birkoff blinked. He stood a moment, considering Delilah’s invitation and wanting more than anything to simply spit out the words that he had been holding onto since seeing her walk across the main floor at Section when she arrived. He looked at her face once more and bit down softly on his lower lip. 

“I...um...was wondering...see..” Birkoff could not get his words together no matter how many times he tried to form them. 

Delilah waited patiently for him to ask his question. A small grin began to emerge at her midnight colored lips. 

“It would be very nice to go out with you, Seymour, but...I’ve got work to do,” Delilah said, her tone very warm and forgiving. “Besides, I’m already paired.”

“Paired?” Birkoff looked confused, but for only a moment as he realized quickly what she meant. “Oh. That other guy right?”

“He is my counterpart,” said Delilah.

Birkoff dropped his gaze. “Figures.”

“But.” Delilah drew close to him and touched his arm. “If I weren’t, I would love to be paired with you. I think we would make a great team.”

Birkoff looked down at Delilah’s hand on his arm, then into her eyes, seeing her staring back at him with an energy that made him feel stripped again. He smiled nervously. Above, footsteps began to descend on the metal steps. Birkoff looked up to see the male telepath coming down. His hard gaze fixed squarely on Birkoff and Delilah standing close to one another. His jaw tensed a little as he traversed the steps coming to the landing where the two stood waiting. Birkoff took a cautionary step back from Delilah, noticing the serious expression on the young guy’s face. Delilah turned to him and went to grab his hand. 

“Sam.”

The young man named Sam focused on Delilah and allowed his expression to soften. 

“Come with me. We need to rest,” she said and pulled the young man along behind her. “It’s good to meet you, Seymour.”

“Yeah,” said Birkoff.

Delilah walked past him, dragging behind her the young man whose gaze scraped over Birkoff before returning to Delilah. Birkoff looked after them as they made their way down the corridor, heading to their quarters. He followed, making sure to keep his distance. He watched as they stopped at a room then using a keycard, entered into it together. Once they were safely behind their own door, Birkoff raced towards his room. Before he could talk himself out of doing so, he logged into one of his many terminals and accessed the surveillance cameras inside Section. He sat down in his desk chair and watched as Delilah and Sam sat in her room seemingly having a conversation. Sam took a seat on the bed. He removed his shoes and socks before folding his legs beneath himself to sit indian style. Delilah did the same, also removing her jewelry and placing it on her dress cabinet. She sat across from Sam on the bed and held her hands out for him to hold. 

The two sat silent, holding each other’s hands and not doing anything else, but Birkoff sensed something was happening. As the two continued to sit, their bodies seemed to tremor. The expression on Sam’s face moved from placidness to strained exertion. Delilah began to express signs of great effort as her body began to rock back and forth. Her chest heaved as she pulled in large grabs of air. Sam soon began to do the same. Although there was no sound in the video feed, Birkoff could tell their open mouths were producing screams of passion. It was then that he realized what it was that he was looking at.

Even though they were fully clothed and had only removed their jewelry and shoes, it was evident that the two telepaths were engaged in some type of sexual interaction. They were connected in a way that had no need for physical joining, but instead shared their energies through psychic contact. With their fingers laced with one another, they pooled their energy together and seemed to feed from each other. The manner in which Delilah appeared to dip and dive with each undulating movement put to mind her supposed pleasure derived from the energy Sam was emitting. Sweat began to bead on both their brows as the session continued. Birkoff felt a little embarrassed for having watched for so long. He knew he should not be watching, that he should turn away, but he could not avert his eyes. The sight of the two telepaths engaged in the odd ritual of intercourse both titillated and intrigued him. He had never seen anything like it ever. He could not deny his need to want to know more.

Delilah and Sam were not long with their exchange. At the end, the two simply let go of one another and lay down next to each other. Breathing heavily, they whispered to each other before falling asleep. The two of them had the look of lovers, newly spent and basking in the afterglow of their lovemaking. Birkoff watched as Delilah curled herself around Sam. If he had not been a telepath, Madeline would have most certainly made him a Valentine Operative. He had the kind of look she almost always was attracted to, being somewhat tall in stature with dark hair and expressive eyes. His swarthy appearance had not gone unnoticed by many of the female operatives in Section as well. He carried the same presence as Michael, only he seemed less controlled on his own merit and more by Delilah’s direction. She appeared to be the one guiding him through their every action, speaking first, and holding him back and away from everyone. He wondered why this was so.

When it was plain that the two would only be sleeping, Birkoff turned the monitor off and laid down. He closed his eyes and found himself in a fantasy with Delilah coming to him to share with him the same experience he had just witnessed on the monitor. She was dressed in just panties and a bra, her cinnamon skin glowing in a golden light illuminating from somewhere unknown. She reached her hands out to him and took him into her arms. He kissed her lips and pulled her down atop himself on a bed that seemed to crop from nowhere. She smiled down at him, caressing his face with her fingertips.

“Seymour,” she hummed, her voice echoing from strange corners. 

He kissed her again, finding himself lost within the continuous echoes of his name. He could feel her hands on his body, touching him everywhere all at the same moment. The feeling made him want to moan in response, but instead, he could only whimper in silence. Once more, she called his name, beckoning back the echoes to reverberate through him. 

Birkoff smiled. He opened his eyes and thought he saw Delilah resting over him in his room. He blinked and caught flashes of her face coming in and out of focus between the haze of sleep and awareness. Not wanting to leave the beautiful dream of her behind, Birkoff shut his eyes tight and tried to recall the vision back. As before, the image of Delilah returned, her hands lightly touching him in places that encouraged his arousal. She repeated his name and admonished him to say hers in return. He did, hearing himself speak it into the void of his dreams and the emptiness of his room. 

Across the room, the monitor flickered back on and the camera image focused on Delilah. Her eyes opened and stared directly into the lens. The image began to fuzz and turn static as she continued to stare into the camera. 

On the bed, Birkoff moaned, fully engrossed in the pleasure of his dream. He whispered Delilah’s name. 

On the monitor, Delilah continued to stare warily into the camera, a smile slowly forming across her lips...

  
  


* * *

  
  


Nikita walked from her station into the back stairwell to head up towards the main floor. From the opposite direction, Michael appeared, dressed in workout attire and no doubt heading to the locker rooms to shower and change clothes. Nikita paused a moment, waiting to see if he would stop to speak. He caught her staring at him and slowed down. 

"Have they called you in yet?" Nikita asked.

"No," said Michael, folding his hands in front of him. "You?"

"Not yet." Nikita took a step closer. "I hear they are taking operatives in one at a time and putting them in the White Room for interrogation."

"Something like that," said Michael. "It's not quite an interrogation, though."

"Well, what do they do to you?"

"I don't know." Michael looked warily about the area, knowing they were not in a very secure space in Section. Their conversation could be monitored. 

Nikita, also aware of where they were, dropped the volume of her voice a little more and pulled in closer to Michael to speak in a whisper.

"Is there any news about the substations?"

"So far, they've all been secured. Everyone is out," said Michael quietly.

"So at this point, they are just searching for the leak."

"Yes."

"How much longer will they keep us all here like this?"

"You have a problem with it?" Michael angled his gaze to Nikita.

Nikita looked back at Michael, checking his tone. It had been a few days on Close Quarters with operatives quarantined within the building and not allowed to leave until after they were interviewed and cleared. The two telepaths appeared to be taking their time with the interviews, seeing only a handful a day inside the White Room. She assumed this was because the effort took a great deal of energy from them, but she was not entirely certain this was the case. From what she gathered from Birkoff, the two teens seemed full of energy even after their sessions with the operatives. The rest of the time, they spent it in their room, playing games and silently communicating with one another. 

"I'm just wondering when we can all get back to our normal lives. I hate to say this, but I kind of miss my apartment."

Michael's expression softened and a shadow of a smile crept across his face. He looked down and reached for her fingers. Taking them into his hand, he rubbed his thumb over her knuckles.

"It will be over soon," he said within a whisper.

Nikita considered this gesture of kindness. She wanted to lean into him, but knew they were being watched. Instead, she smiled tenderly then sighed. She pulled her hand away and started up the steps towards the main floor. Michael looked after her a moment before heading to the locker rooms.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Inside the lounge, several operatives gathered mainly to speak in hushed voices about the ongoing investigation and audit. Nearly half of the personnel at Section were already interviewed with many of them clearing and allowed to return to their homes. The attack on the substations was finally resolved with the small group of anarchists wrangled up and taken into containment. It was not known what their actual goal was except to be counted as one to have gone against Section and eliminated one of their substations. There was still the threat of more attacks as the mole had yet to be discovered. It was theorized that the information leak only went to the small group and no other agencies. However, both Operations and Madeline continued the inquiry in order to stamp out the last remaining piece to the insurrection. 

Delilah and Sam walked into the lounge and drew instant attention from all those seated. Their eyes went frightfully up to the two as they finished their meals quickly and hurried away from them and out of their immediate presence. Sam looked after them, his expression hinging on concern as he watched the other operatives leave. Delilah looked back at her partner and took his hand into her’s. 

“What do you want to drink? I think they have soda, water, energy, tea. What do you want?” she asked with a smile. 

“Tea is fine for me,” answered Sam. 

Delilah deposited him into a seat at a table close to a bank of televisions. He relaxed back, extending himself to length and clasped his hands together over his stomach. His dark hair was fixed into a ponytail with a few tresses left to hang loosely at his temples. He wore a light denim jacket over a red sweater, worn grey jeans, and black combat boots. He watched the televisions for a moment, taking in the multiple channels of news broadcasts before returning his attention back to Delilah. She stood at the row of coffee makers, cappuccino machines, and tea brewers, deciding which one to use. She turned and held up a selection of tea bags to Sam. 

Green, he responded telepathically. 

Delilah smiled and put the green tea bag into the brewer and began steeping it. She selected for herself a cup of chamomile tea and prepared it in a mug to await her turn at the brewer. She smiled back at Sam, telling him telepathically how much she adored his red sweater. He responded back that he adored how well her jeans fit on her. He raised an eyebrow. Delilah purposefully swiveled her hips in response. Sam licked his lips. 

Birkoff entered the lounge and upon seeing Delilah, began smiling broadly. His smile was brief, however, seeing Sam seated in a chair a few steps from her. Their eyes met, both testing one another. Sam’s jaw tensed a little. Birkoff went directly to the vending machine to grab an energy drink. Delilah pulled Sam’s mug of tea from the brewer after it was finished and brought it to him. He took it, his eyes watching Birkoff warily. Delilah gave him a warning look, to which he returned a smirk. 

“We’ll talk later,” said Delilah audibly. 

Sam’s eyes shifted downward, appearing convicted. 

Delilah placed her mug in the brewer and started it. She turned to Birkoff, still standing at the vending machine drinking his energy drink and looking through his PDA at missed messages. He looked up to see Delilah standing in front of him.

“H-hi,” said Birkoff. He tucked his PDA into one of the larger pockets of his army green cargo pants. 

“I think you might be in my next group,” said Delilah. 

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s cool,” said Birkoff, then wondered why he had said that. 

“We could skip the whole thing if you just tell me now if you’re who we’re looking for,” said Delilah with a grin. “Or...maybe you just want me to touch you again?”

Birkoff nearly spit out his energy drink. “Again?”

Sam got up from his seat. Birkoff looked wide eyed at him, expecting him to intervene at that moment. Instead, he only looked at him with the same intensity as he always did. He cast a look back at Delilah, exchanging silent words with her before leaving the lounge. She nodded then returned to Birkoff. 

“You guys talk a lot like that, don’t you,” said Birkoff.

“In a place like this, we almost have to...if we want to keep things just between us, that is.”

“I wish sometimes we could do that,” Birkoff mused. 

“You probably could,” said Delilah.

“What do you mean?” Birkoff took a gulp of his energy drink. 

“With a bit of training, and the right booster, you could develop your brain to communicate without words the same as Sam and I. You have all the traits for it.”

Birkoff swallowed hard and blinked. He could hardly believe what he was hearing, yet Delilah said it with such faith that he had no other choice. He took a step closer to her, daring to be near enough to touch her. She did not back away, only stared back into his rose tinted glasses with tenderness and sincerity. She was not wearing her severe black lipstick or tribal paint. Her face was clean of any makeup and appeared more beautiful than he could have imagined before. He imagined he was standing with her under a large Acacia tree listening to the wild sounds of the Serengeti. Her scent was like a garden of nemesia flowers, fragrantly filling the air with the perfume of a thousand vanilla ice cream sundaes. Her amber eyes drew him into her, stealing away the very breath he tried in earnest to hold on to. His body pulled closer to her, demanding he melt himself into her so that they could finally be one. Before he could stop himself, he dropped his drink can to the floor and reached for her. Delilah did not stop him as he wrapped his arms about her waist and pulled her into a kiss. She made a sharp squeak noise, surprised a little by the force of his lips to her own. She did not hold him back, only allowed his lips to press at her lips and his tongue tentatively lick between her teeth.

Someone cleared their throat just behind Birkoff. 

Startled, Birkoff released Delilah and turned quickly to see Nikita standing with her arms folded at her chest. There was a very wary look in her expression as she considered Birkoff and the telepath standing at the vending machines kissing. Behind them, the tea maker whistled signalling the end to its brewing and was now ready for the mug to be extracted from it. Birkoff looked down at his feet at the now wasted energy drink on the floor. He bent down and picked up the mostly empty can. He looked at Nikita with obvious chagrin then left to grab a few paper towels to clean up the mess. Nikita turned her attention to Delilah. She stood watching Nikita with heavy interest. Her eyes darkened a little as she studied the tall blonde operative. Nikita moved away from the spill giving Birkoff room to work. She circled over to the coffee and tea machines and removed the mug from the tea maker. She snapped in a coffee flavor pack into the coffee maker and started a cup. 

“Nikita, right?” said Delilah, circling behind her to retrieve her tea mug. 

“That’s right,” said Nikita. “And you are?”

“Delilah.”

“De-lie-lah,” Nikita pronounced slowly. 

She looked over at Birkoff, checking his progress. He was on his hands and knees, wiping up the spilled energy drink and piling wet towels next to him as he used them. After a moment more of wiping, he stood to his feet, gathering the soaked towels and took them to a trash can. He looked back at the two women and gave a nervous smile before turning and leaving quickly from the lounge. Nikita returned to Delilah. 

“So you’re the telepath.”

Delilah sipped at her tea and nodded. 

“I hear you have a friend as well.”

“Sam. He’s my partner,” Delilah answered then smiled sweetly at Nikita. 

Nikita smiled back, but maintained both her physical and emotional distance.

“Partner. As in colleague?”

“No. Partner as in partner,” said Delilah. She kept her smile, but Nikita sensed an air of teenage brazenness just underneath the surface.

“So if he’s your partner,” Nikita began cautiously, “what was that about with Birkoff?”

Nikita pulled the mug from the coffee machine and took a savoring sip of her coffee. Delilah giggled. 

“That? Oh I don’t know what that was,” said Delilah, obviously toying with Nikita. She swiveled a little from the machines and went to take a seat at a nearby table. 

Nikita finished clearing away what was left of her coffee packet, tossing it into the trash before joining the young woman at her table. She sat her mug down and leaned back casually in her seat. Across from her, Delilah continued to sip her tea, holding her mug in both hands in a somewhat juvenile manner. 

“What’s going on with you two?” asked Nikita. 

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.”

“Well,” Nikita drew in a breath. “Birkoff isn’t the type to go about kissing random women.”

“I’m not random,” said Delilah.

“I can see that,” said Nikita stiffly. “Obviously he believes something between the two of you. I’m just looking out for my friend. I wouldn’t like it if he got hurt, you know what I mean?”

“Of course,” said Delilah, her tone still light and friendly, but the smile on her face said something else entirely. “I don’t want to see Seymour get hurt either. He’s much too special.”

“Special?” Nikita was curious as to what the telepath meant.

“Yes,” said Delilah. “Seymour is quite special. I don’t think any of you know exactly how much.”

“Well, of course he is special,” Nikita defended. “He is special to all of us. He is very important to the team.”

“And to you,” Delilah added. 

Nikita considered her words, then nodded. 

“Yes. He is also very important to me.” Nikita leveled her gaze with Delilah. “And since he is important to me, it makes me very protective of him.”

Delilah nodded, understanding. “Like a sister.”

“Exactly. A very big sister that doesn’t like it when little girls start playing with her little brother’s heart. So if you don’t mind, please leave my brother alone if you don’t have any further intentions with him.”

The smile returned to Delilah as she regarded Nikita. She sipped her tea some more, allowing the silence between them to ease the tension that had begun. Nikita kept a wary eye on Delilah, waiting for her to respond back, but found the young girl quite content with sitting and drinking her tea quietly. Nikita looked down at her watch and gave out a long sigh. She looked at Delilah again.

“You’re a telepath, right. You can look into people’s minds and read them?”

Delilah nodded, still sipping. 

“Have you found the mole yet?”

“Not yet,” said Delilah. “But we will. Eventually.”

“How?”

“We search through your thoughts...memories...emotions. We can see a lot of things that people think that they’ve hidden well within their psyche. You’d be amazed at the secrets people keep deep within.”

“Is that why they brought you here? To dig deep into our minds to find out our secrets?” asked Nikita warily. 

“No. We’re here to find out who is leaking information,” Delilah answered plainly. 

“Then why dig so deep? Why not simply ask the question and detect who is lying? You can do that, can’t you?”

“Yes, but that’s not what Section wants. They want to know everything. They want to know anyone that might pose even the threat of revolt.”

“You’re able to look into the darker most parts of our minds and glean out our secret thoughts. What if they are only thoughts and we have no intentions of ever acting on them? Are we to be punished for thinking?” Nikita challenged. 

“Of course not,” Delilah laughed. “That would be absurd.”

“What’s to stop you from telling them what you know?”

“Well, for one,” Delilah began, adjusting her positioning in her seat, “it really isn’t any of my business what any of you think about Section. Quite honestly, I don’t care.”

“If it’s none of your business, why look? Why not just simply ask the question?”

“Because. Oftentimes, people hide things in places where they hope no one will look. It’s like dumpster diving. You end up searching through a pile of shit before you find the real treasure hidden deep down.” Delilah relaxed her mug and shifted her eyes to Nikita. They were amber colored again and full of renewed interest. “Now I’m beginning to wonder what sort of secrets you’ve buried in the cesspool of your mind.”

Nikita responded with a cruel smile before standing up. 

“I bet you’re eager to find out.”

“You could make it easier if you just tell me.” 

Nikita drank the last of her coffee and crushed the cup in her fist. 

“I’m not the mole.”

“I know,” said Delilah. “You’re something else.”

Nikita held back a sneer as she took her crushed cup to the trash cans. She started out of the lounge when she felt something urge her to stop. The feeling was almost impairing as she attempted to move forward but found her feet would not obey her command. Instead, she felt herself turn and face Delilah, now standing with her arms at her sides and staring at her. Nikita swallowed hard, knowing that it was the young telepath making her stand before her. 

“Your energy intrigues me,” said Delilah. She began walking towards Nikita slowly. “You’re hiding something but it doesn’t have anything to do with why we are here at Section. But it is something to do with Section...or rather someone.”

Delilah drew close to Nikita, enough to whisper up into her ear. Her golden eyes pierced deep into Nikita making her still her breath at the feeling. 

“Don’t worry. I’ll be gentle with you.”

In an instant, Nikita felt herself released as Delilah moved away from her and out of the lounge. Nikita gasped, sensing she was back in control of herself once more. She looked after Delilah, gauging her apparent strength and how easily she appeared to take control over her. Memories of Jerome flooded back, recalling how utterly helpless they had all been to the ten year old once he fully began to engage in his powers. She remembered the way the boy stopped the transport van, just so he could escape to a playground. Then, when he was refused to be allowed to return home, he flipped the vehicle killing the driver and injuring Nikita. She had warned Michael of the danger that Jerome posed, telling him then that there was nothing that either Operations or Madeline could do to stop the child from doing whatever he liked. If he could control them with his mind, even go as far as using their own equipment against them, what made any of them think that could somehow direct him to do what they wanted? Had she not reached out and attempted to connect to the boy, all of Section would have imploded. She thought that Operations and Madeline had learned their lesson, and perhaps they had by welcoming two much older subjects from Section Four. However, with them being older, it only meant that they were also much more powerful than the ten year old Jerome. Nikita was unsure if she would be able to appeal to them the same way that she did to Jerome. By the way that Delilah looked at her and seemed to like playing with her words, she knew relating to her was not going to be easy or even possibly welcomed. 

Admittedly, she knew that she had not started off on a good impression with the young woman. After seeing her with Birkoff, she had not thought about her being from Section Four or that she had powers. The only thing that she considered at all was the fact that Birkoff was kissing someone he barely knew and was clearly partnered with someone else. Naturally, she desired to protect him, even if he might not have wanted it. The act was instinctual. However, it was not Delilah’s reaction to her very veiled but weak threat that bothered Nikita. It was her words after, when she began to speak to her about the deep secrets that she discovered while probing each operative’s mind. Those secrets, kept hidden from everyone, and tucked away into the far reaches, were what the telepaths were searching through to find the answer to a question that needed only to be asked. Delilah had said it plainly that it wasn’t just the mole that they were seeking. They were out to find anyone that might pose a threat to Section whether it be consciously or subconsciously. That could mean anyone would be subject to further interrogation and possible cancellation should they be deemed cancerous to the organization.

* * *

  
  
  
  


Nikita walked to Michael’s office heavy with thoughts and hoping that he was seated at his desk. She needed to speak with him about her worry. The two telepaths inside Section were doing their assigned work, but she could feel there was something more that they were up to as well. She feared it had something to do with her and Michael. Even though things were settled down between herself and Operations, she still felt like there could be more that they would try and do against her. It was no secret anymore that both Operations and Madeline aimed to kill her. Their actions over the past year had shown their hand. Even after being put through their Gelman Program and stripped of her emotions for a time, they continued to want to see her demise. Michael’s commitment to bringing her back to her former self only further strengthened their resolve in wanting to destroy every atom of her being so that she was wiped clean from the face of both the earth and Section’s memory database. If they could, they would obliterate her into nothingness and wipe Michael’s memory of her in the process. She wondered if the two telepaths, once she was seated in their chair, would be instructed to not only erase her completely, but eliminate anyone else that might align with her. Delilah had said she wanted to know her deeper secrets, the ones that she kept hidden beneath the trash of her desires. She was confident she would find out all that Nikita had been withholding. Perhaps she would discover things that Nikita could not admit even to herself. 

In the past, she had found it more beneficial to not acknowledge the difficult things in her memories. She had stowed so much of her life away into dark corners that she ceased to know what was actually there. When she had tampered with the Phasing Shell, she had unearthed memories of her childhood she had not realised were impairing her. Despite its programming to become a mindless assassin, it did manage to help her face the demons of her past. She found herself feeling more empowered and strengthened by the contraption. Its simplicity in design and effect made it both highly attractive and addictive. Like a drug, she found herself hooked after one use, and before long, it had taken over her life. Section had invited her to taste the forbidden manipulator with no real knowledge of what it would do, then threatened to kill her for exhibiting the behavior it had programmed in her. Michael had been there to see her through her recovery. Had he not been there to ease her back, she might not be alive, or at the very least, who she was. Had she not destroyed it, Section could have very well begun to use the thing to start programming other operatives to do the same as what they were attempting to prevent. Walter had refused under no uncertain terms to repair the machine, as did Birkoff, much to Madeline’s dismay. Operations saw no real value in the contraption and had it further dismantled and melted down. At the end of all of it, Nikita wondered what had been the parting lesson to be learned? In their experience with Section Four and with the mind control device, what was Section truly attempting to uncover by roving through each of their operatives’ minds and discovering their innermost thoughts? She was certain they would find thoughts that would be unfavorable to the organization. It would be odd to find an operative that had nothing but great things to think about Section. If that were the case, that operative should be the one to be considered dangerous. 

Most people hate Section, or pretend to….

Andrea’s face flickered in Nikita’s mind like a ghost returning to haunt her. She remembered thinking awful thoughts about the profiler when she thought Michael had taken an interest in her. She felt betrayed when she saw them dancing together, his arms about her, his fingers lightly grazing her arm in much the same fashion he had done with her. She remembered hating herself for feeling the way that she did. It wasn’t until Andrea showed up at her doorstep that she began to truly wonder about the things Section made them all do for the sake of simple inquiry. Section did not have to subject Andrea to such manipulation to discover what sort of woman she ultimately was. Section did not have to order Michael to seduce her to gain access to her files. Madeline knew from the beginning that there was something not quite right about Andrea. There was nothing in her personnel files that would show the dysfunction in her psyche. Having Michael sleep with her was more a test of Michael’s loyalty and obedience than it was to see whether or not Andrea would fall for the ruse. It was clear to Nikita that Michael was being manipulated at every turn just as much as she was. The only difference between her and Michael was that he went along with the manipulations without questioning any of it. Maybe it was because he had spent so much time in Section learning the ins and outs of its inner workings and knew what he could and could not get away with, that he seemed much more compliant than most. Walter had said at one time that most operatives had their souls sucked out of them within the first year. Only a lucky few managed to keep theirs. She had not wanted to think that Michael was one of the unlucky majority, but she could not deny that something had been stolen from him over the years. 

And now they brought in two telepaths to further stir their minds until they were all left with soup for brains. 

The door to Michael’s office was closed along with the blinds. Nikita wondered why it was that Michael had them both closed. It was unusual to say the least. He either had one open and the other closed, but never both at the same time. The only time she had ever seen them closed was when she closed them herself trying to hide Michael while he recovered from his temporary bout of amnesia. Other than that instance, Michael always had one or the other open. 

She tried the door and found it unlocked. She half expected the door to be locked, and was relieved to find it not. She pressed down the bar slowly and cracked open the door to peer inside. The office was dark, save the blue light of Michael’s computer monitor. Nikita looked into the office and saw Michael seated at his desk. Behind him, a dark figure stood, holding Michael’s head between his hands. Nikita could see Michael shaking, his hands gripping the edge of his desk, and his eyes rolled to the top of his skull. The dark figure behind him was bent down over him, touching his forehead to Michael’s. His dark hair fell around Michael’s face, brushing along the sides of his cheeks. Michael was making breathy noises as if hyperventilating. His chest moved rapidly up and down. Nikita pushed into the room, pulling a small caliber pistol from an ankle holster in her boot. Even though she knew that she was not supposed to have a firearm on her person, she always carried it in spite of the rules. With so many attempts made on her life both in and outside of Section, she needed to always be prepared for any affront. At the moment, the threat was not at her life, but at Michael’s which she considered equally hazardous. She aimed the pistol at the figure.

“Hey! Get away from him!”

The figure looked up, stunned. His dark eyes focused on Nikita. His young face fixed in an expression of alarm as he stepped back from Michael, releasing his head. Michael slumped backward into his chair. Nikita cocked the gun, keeping it level as she moved in further towards the desk. 

“Get away from him...Now!” Nikita repeated through clenched teeth. 

The young man put up his hands in surrender and backed away from Michael. 

“You’re not supposed to have that,” he said in a very quiet, near whisper voice.

“You’re not supposed to be in here,” Nikita countered. “Who are you?”

“I’m Sam,” said the young man. 

“Well, Sam, what the hell are you doing?” Nikita narrowed her eyes.

“Helping,” said Sam. He looked over at Michael, still slumped in his chair. “He asked me to.”

“Why?”

“He wanted me to help him.”

“With what?” 

Nikita kept the gun trained on Sam as he circled around the desk and towards the door. She noticed she did not feel quite the same as she did with Delilah while in the room with the male telepath. There was not a threatening sense about him like there was with the girl. Instead, she felt nothing but her own heightened sense of alarm seeing him with Michael and his resulting condition. Still, she did not trust the young man no more than she trusted Delilah. 

“With what?” Nikita repeated. 

The boy continued to look at her in silence. Behind her, Michael moaned. Nikita turned to see Michael as he groaned again. She turned back to the boy and found him gone. Nikita returned to Michael and rushed to his side. She shoved the pistol back inside her boot and held Michael by his shoulders. His head lolled to the side a moment before righting. Nikita quickly pulled out the panel under Michael’s desk and checked to see if the code had been initiated. Seeing that the room had been previously secured, she snapped the panel back into place.

“Michael? Michael, are you alright?” Nikita asked, her voice full of distress. “Michael!”

Michael groaned again, forming words but not fully articulating them. 

“Michael! What happened? Can you tell me?”

Michael frowned. His eyes popped open and he was up on his feet in an instant, nearly banging his knees against the edge of the desk. Nikita fell backward, landing on the floor after being pushed by Michael’s chair. 

“Michael!”

She watched as Michael raced to the office door, stumbling as he moved and fell against the door. He leaned out of the doorway searching with red-rimmed eyes and mumbling to himself. Nikita stood up, shocked by what she was seeing with Michael suddenly. He seemed completely unhinged, behaving as though he were out of his mind. She drew closer to him, trembling as she reached to touch him. He was sweating profusely, his light eyes searching about for something, as his lips moved with soundless words. 

“Michael, please,” Nikita begged, uncertain of what was happening. “Please. What did he do to you?”

Michael looked at Nikita as though he did not know her, then looked back out from his office. Nikita was thankful that no one was there at the moment to see Michael as he was. She pulled him back inside his office and closed the door. Michael, still trembling, leaned against the wall. He looked at Nikita again, his expression now full of anguish. Nikita’s heart clenched tight, recognizing the look on Michael’s face. She had seen it before and it had been miserable then. 

It was the look of heartbreak. 

“Adam…” Michael breathed shakily.

“Michael, no,” said Nikita, wishing she could remove the pain of his loss from him. 

Overwhelming sadness took over Michael and broke both his face and the strength in his legs. He crumbled down to the floor and lay sobbing. Nikita curled up next to him and held him within her arms. For the next hour, she stroked his hair, cradling his head at her breasts and whispering to him that she was there and would be there to help him through his pain. 

“I won’t leave you, Michael...I’ll never leave you.”

Michael’s sobs quieted. He continued to grip her tightly to him as if hanging on to her for reassurance that she would indeed stay with him. Outside the office, Section continued headless of what was going on in Michael’s office. Nikita was glad the blinds and the door were closed. She made a move quickly to lock the door then returned to Michael who pulled her back to him. They lay on the floor of his office, holding each other not just for comfort, but for safety as well. She could not know what it was that they were up against with the telepaths and with Section. What she did know was that whatever it was, she would not allow it to break apart her family. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


Walter stepped into the White room and looked at the solitary metal chair at the center of the room. He could not help the sudden sprout of sweat that moistened his forehead and the palms of his hands. The Control Officer escorting him waited for him to step further into the room before closing the door behind him. He did not notice Madeline slowly approach him from the far right corner. Her dark gaze washed over Walter, noting his nervousness and displaying her cheshire grin in response. 

“Please, have a seat, Walter,” she said warmly. She gestured needlessly to the chair. 

Walter sat down slowly, placing his arms with some hesitation on to the armrests. Madeline circled Walter. 

“So,” began Walter, eyeing Madeline carefully. “How do we go about this?”

Madeline continued to smile. “Just relax. This won’t take long.”

The door opened again allowing in the two telepaths. The girl was dressed in a long black coat, low rise leather pants, a red bra with a black mesh top over it. She wore her black lip and paired it with heavily lined eyes and a small silver cross dangling from her left ear. Behind her, the boy stood, dressed in a black t-shirt, leather vest and distressed dark colored jeans. The serious look in his eyes was in direct contrast to the pleasant expression of the girl. Walter did not move as the two telepaths began preparing themselves by joining hands and breathing in deeply between each other. Madeline watched them warily before turning her attention to Walter. 

“Do you need anything before we get started?” Madeline asked, her tone sounding very hospitable. 

Walter barely listened to Madeline as he turned his head to see what was going on behind him. The two telepaths continued to meditate with each other, seemingly oblivious to where they were and who was in the room. Walter returned to Madeline. 

“No thank you,” he said as politely as he could muster in spite of feeling incredibly uneasy. 

Madeline looked back up at the telepaths. 

“Are we ready to begin?”

The two nodded.

Madeline looked back at Walter. 

“This will go easier if you don’t fight them,” she said as she leveled her gaze with Walter. “It will go faster if you simply open yourself to their...exploration.”

She smiled again, twisting her lips up in such a way that neither made Walter feel relaxed or confident in what was about to occur. She patted his hand and turned to leave the room. Behind him, the girl and guy positioned themselves to either side of him. Walter looked up at the male and grinned anxiously. 

“Exploration, huh?” said Walter skeptically. “Don’t go wandering around too much in there. Start opening doors and you might not like what you find.” 

He turned to the girl and looked her over quickly. His grin took on its usual pervy context. “You’re probably really not going to like what you find in there. I apologize in advance. We’re not all saints, you know.”

The girl smirked then looked at the guy. They both shared a smile. The girl shifted her attention from the guy and back to Walter. She touched his cheek gently, sweeping the back of her hand across his jawline. 

“Lean back. This won’t hurt at all...so long as you cooperate with us.”

Walter was at first lulled by the tender way the girl spoke to him, but then became concerned at her last words. The girl reached for her partner’s hand then placed her other hand on the side of his head. The guy performed the same movement, cupping both sides of Walter’s head like headphones. Walter’s eyes searched about the white room. He began to feel a tingling warmth travel all over his body, radiating through every extremity and pulsing at his temples. He closed his eyes, somewhat enjoying the feeling as it slowly turned soothing. Images flashed in his thoughts, racing like a projection monitor stuck on fast forward as it played every memory. When the images came to his wife, Belinda, it paused, displaying her face in crisp detail. So clear, he thought he could reach and touch her. His arms lifted in response, but fell back into place as her apparition dissolved, and the memories flipped past her. The movie paused again at the moment he saved Operations’ life. 

The ambush happened within a second with their entire unit surrounded by enemy soldiers. The Viet-Cong hostiles rushed their camp firing at anything moving. Many of them had sprung from a junk covered wagon with one pretending to be asking for sanctuary behind their lines. As they argued with another soldier, guns suddenly popped out and several American soldiers lay dead on the ground. Walter jumped up from his card game with another soldier just as he was struck in the head. Blood and brain matter spread across the bamboo wall of their shelter. He rolled away and commando crawled over towards where his own firearm had been propped against the wall. All around him, men’s screams mixed with the constant barrage of gunfire. Bullets whistled past him, striking the ground near his body and ricocheting off to another target. He grabbed his gun and returned fire in an instant. Three Viet-Cong men went down almost simultaneously. He looked up towards the guard tower and saw two other American soldiers firing down on the wagon. 

Someone threw a grenade. 

It exploded next to the wheel of the wagon, dropping it down and spilling two Viet-Cong men onto the ground. Walter aimed his automatic rifle at the two and opened fire, strafing them and the ground around them. Their bodies seized as bullets bit into them. Ahead, more Viet-Cong men appeared from the brush, firing and throwing crudely fashioned grenades. 

The Americans rallied. 

The guard tower exploded.

Conical hats began to pour out from the brush. 

Someone yelled for everyone to fall back.

Walter spied Paul laying on the ground behind a jeep. His right leg pumped blood through a bullet wound. His light grey eyes were wide with shock. Walter stood to his feet and ran across the covered area of the shelter over to where Paul lay. A few bullets chased after him, striking the building just behind him. He dropped to the ground next to Paul and returned short bursts of fire, killing four more men. He looked down at Paul.

“Can you get up?” he asked.

Paul shook his head no. His black hair fell into his eyes. Walter looked at their dire situation and knew that there was little hope of survival. Behind him, the American unit retreated to a better defense position where they could race to an evacuation point. He looked down at Paul’s leg, noticing the huge gobs of blood pooling out. It was clear that the bullet had struck his thigh bone, snapping it in two. There was no way he would be able to put any weight on the leg, least of all make the two and half mile dash to extraction. He gave Paul a very worried look, knowing the outcome of both their fates if he remained with him. Ahead, the Viet-Cong continued to fire at the remaining defense positioned to cover the retreat. After another moment of decision, he quickly pulled his tags from his neck and looped it over Paul’s head. He then took Paul’s tags off his neck and put them on. Paul looked up, confused.

“If they think you’re an officer, they might not kill you,” was all Walter said before turning and running, leaving Paul shouting for him to return.

“We’re done,” said the girl, removing her hand from his head. 

Walter blinked awake. He wiped his face and found it soaking wet with sweat. The two telepaths drew back from Walter. The male fell against the wall appearing completely drained while the girl , though somewhat sluggish, went to open the door to the interrogation room. Two Control officers along with two members of the medical team entered the room. The officers remained at the doors while the medical team addressed Walter. They offered him a glass of water and began checking his vitals as he drank. Madeline appeared in the doorway, her hands held behind her back and her smile fixed in place. Walter finished his water, emptying the glass, then thanked the medical team. Their eyes met Madeline and silently conceded to her as they exited. The telepath girl went to see about her counterpart still resting against the wall. 

“We thank you, Walter, for your cooperation. You did very well,” said Madeline.

“I did?” Walter continued to struggle to regain himself. 

He felt like he had been sedated heavily. He tried to stand to his feet, but found the effort too difficult. He slunk back down into the seat. Madeline turned to one of the guards at the door. 

“Have Medical return to take Walter for further review.”

The officer nodded and left the room. Madeline looked at the two telepaths. 

“Will you be okay to do another?”

“We will be fine,” said the girl, displaying her own loaded grin. “We just need a moment to recharge.”

Madeline nodded. The medical team returned to collect Walter. They carefully aided him from the chair and walked him out of the White Room. Madeline turned her head towards Walter, silently offering her support. Once he was gone, she focused back to the telepaths.

“Is he our mole?” she asked. 

The girl returned to Madeline, pausing her care to her partner. She shook her head.

“Even though he holds deep resentment towards Section, he also has a loyalty to it as well. He has a sense of...obligation and duty to one particular person. Section has become part of him. He sees purpose in it and would likely do nothing to tear it apart.”

“Likely?” Madeline took a step forward. 

"Yes," said the girl. "Likely. There is still a possibility that he may still pose a threat, but...not the kind of threat we are looking for."

"I see," said Madeline resolutely. 

She turned from the telepaths and walked out of the White Room and into the hall. Down the hall, Birkoff appeared with two Control Officers escorting him towards the room. Madeline regarded the young man with a pleasant smile. Birkoff's expression hinted to his nervousness, but there was also an air of excitement in him as well. Madeline tilted her head, noticing this, but declined to speak towards it. Instead, she nodded her acknowledgement of him and followed him into the room. Birkoff looked first at the chair, then at the two telepaths standing at the back wall. He turned around, seeing Madeline. She said nothing as she stood waiting. Birkoff turned back to the chair and went to sit down slowly in it. Memories of the times before, sitting in the seat, came to him and caused him to sweat. He could not help to shake a little in response to the cold steel underneath his fingertips once more. Madeline stepped into the room further, keeping her gaze steady with Birkoff. 

“We’re here to do an investigation of all operatives with access to our data files and communications,” she began. “With you being our head Communications Officer, we must ensure that you are not leaking any information about Section or any of its affiliated subsidiaries as well as aligned agencies to other counter offices. Since you have been within our service, you have proven yourself to be both trustworthy and proactive in protecting all of our intel and data. Because of that, I will give you an opportunity now to admit for yourself involvement in any treasonous acts against Section. Have you, in any way, provided locations, coordinates, or mission objectives to anyone outside of Section?”

Birkoff was alarmed at Madeline’s address to him. He faltered a minute, not really knowing how to answer the very pointed inquiry. 

“You think I’m the mole?” Birkoff stated not hiding his surprise.

“I’m asking you if you are,” Madeline answered.

Birkoff stared again at Madeline, not believing he was being asked such a question. He thought he should feel offended, but he curiously did not. He turned around to see Delilah and Sam still standing at the back of the room watching him. He turned back to Madeline. 

“I’m not,” Birkoff answered quietly.

Madeline smiled just a little more, appearing pleased to hear his answer. 

“Good. You may go now, Birkoff.”

Madeline turned and started for the door. Birkoff looked after a moment, realizing the inquiry was over. He looked back at Delilah and Sam. They made no move towards him. Delilah looked at him with tenderness, but did not come close to him. Birkoff’s expression changed with the realization that she would not be touching him in any way at that moment. He turned back to Madeline, unwilling to get up from his seat. 

“Don’t you want to know if I’m telling the truth?” Birkoff attempted.

Madeline opened the door. 

“I trust that you are,” said Madeline, not bothering to turn around. 

“But how do you know? I mean,” Birkoff looked back quickly towards the telepaths, then to Madeline. “I could be lying.”

Madeline paused and turned slightly back to his direction. 

“I know that you aren’t,” she said evenly. “You wouldn’t be so reckless to.” 

“Don’t you want to check and see? If I’m lying?”

Madeline turned fully to Birkoff. He remained in the steel chair, looking anxiously back at her. The grin on her face continued, but now looked more sympathetic than pleased. 

“Birkoff, if it were you that leaked the information to the anarchist group, we would have caught it long before now. Almost all of your data transfers and communications are monitored not just by me, but by Operations, and eventually Oversight. We would have seen your dishonesty even before any substations got destroyed. You have already been cleared along with several others in your department. I only brought you here to maintain the appearance of all operatives being reviewed. We did not want it to look like we were targeting any one person specifically. If we did that, the real target might freak and cover their tracks more effectively.”

“Wouldn’t this give them more time to cover their tracks?” asked Birkoff.

“The more time that the perpetrator believes he has, the less organized he becomes. If he is given a sense of ease and invulnerability, he may slip and expose himself unwittingly to us.”

Birkoff nodded, his jaw slightly gaping with the explanation. He looked back again at Delilah, wanting more than anything for her to touch him, but he knew it was not going to happen. She stayed back with Sam, holding his arm in either a gesture of calmness or as a means of defense. Her tender demeanor was replaced with a seriousness that brought about a chill throughout his body. Birkoff stood up from the chair and walked towards Madeline. 

“If you’d like,” said Madeline, stopping Birkoff just before he left the room. “I could still have them search.”

Birkoff took one last look back at the chair then at Delilah standing with Sam at the back of the room. Her eyes met him, dark and unfeeling. Birkoff dropped his gaze. 

“No.”

“Take a thirty minute break. Grab some coffee or a danish. You look a bit famished,” said Madeline. 

Birkoff looked into Madeline’s rarely kind eyes and smiled. He pulled away from her and walked down the hall back towards his station at Communications. Madeline looked after him before returning her attention to the next operative coming towards her in the opposite direction. The young man, a Field Operative named Erwin, walked up to meet her. His deep blue eyes regarded Madeline kindly as she stared back up at him. Her smile warmed as she gently escorted him inside the White Room. 

“Please, have a seat, Erwin. Relax...This won’t take long…”

  
  
  


“Come in, Nikita,” said Operations. 

Nikita stepped into Command and looked at Operations as he stood at a bank of monitors reviewing scrolling data. He worked with a PDA in his hand, tapping the screen to move to another view. Beside him, Madeline held a folder which she closed shut upon seeing Nikita walk in. She regarded her with pleasant acknowledgement. Nikita nodded back, then placed her hands behind her back in a parade rest stance. Despite having spent much of the morning in workout clothes sparring with other operatives, Nikita was fresh and neat in a jewel blue shirt and pants set and black ballet flats. Her hair was pulled back from her face and left to hang long down her back. She wore little makeup, only bothering to add some color to her cheeks and mascara which she hoped would further impress Madeline who always seemed preoccupied with her outer appearance. Both Operations and Madeline looked like they had spent the night planning their outfits to match. They were both in dark grey suits, his a double breasted jacket, while hers a single button down blazer. They were both in slacks of similar cut, and both in black patent leather shoes polished to a dull sheen. Operations’ silver hair was a fitting antithesis to Madeline’s dark mane. His stoic gaze matched Madeline’s as they waited for Nikita to speak. 

“What’s on your mind, Nikita?” asked Madeline, opening the dialogue. 

“I’ve come to make a request,” began Nikita, weighing her words carefully. 

“What sort of request?” Madeline pursued cordially. 

Nikita turned her eyes to Madeline who seemed to be the only person in the room that was interested in what she had to say. At the moment, Operations was busying himself with his PDA and studying the monitors. 

“The telepaths that were brought in from Four. They are interviewing every operative, right?”

“Yes,” said Madeline. 

“Are they also conducting private interviews outside of the interrogation room?”

“No.” Madeline looked warily at Nikita, curious at her line of questioning. “Why do you ask?”

“I ask,” Nikita began, swallowing hard. “Because I saw one of them in Michael’s office...doing something to him.”

Madeline tilted her head, interested. “Oh? What were they doing?”

“I don’t know.”

“Which one was it? The girl or the boy?” asked Madeline. 

“The boy,” said Nikita, still focused on Madeline. “He had Michael’s head and was doing something to him. He was hurting him I think.”

“How was he hurting him?” Madeline continued, taking a step forward. 

Nikita shrugged. She could feel her emotions beginning to build. She took in a deep breath, suppressing the urge to panic. Before, she would be in a funnel cloud of agitation and discord. She would have already begun to scream and plead earnestly for the both of them to look at her, but she fought her desire to react. Instead, she maintained herself and only tensed her jaw in response. 

“I don’t know how he was hurting him. I just know that he was,” Nikita answered. “He said that he was helping him, but he wouldn’t tell me how or with what.”

“Perhaps he was helping Michael in some way,” said Madeline evenly. “They aren’t just here to seek out information for us. They can be used in other capacities as well.”

“In what ways are they being used?” Nikita stepped closer to Madeline. 

“They are telepaths, Nikita. They are explorers of the mind. For those who need that type of assistance, I’m sure they can be of some help...In some way.”

“You can’t be serious,” Nikita could not help but scoff. “These are kids.”

“In appearance only,” said Madeline. She relaxed herself a moment and retreated back to Operations. “They have been trained in many different areas of the psyche. They are just as much capable of assisting with psychological struggles as any other psychotherapist. The only difference is that they can look deeper into the mind than most others can.”

“Forgive me for speaking this, but I don’t want any kid snooping about in my head...and neither does Michael.”

“Has he told you that was what the boy was doing?” Madeline challenged. 

“No. But I know what I saw, and what I saw was not right,” Nikita countered. “I am asking you to allow Michael to undergo regular questioning. He is one of your best and most loyal operatives. He wouldn’t betray the Section. He would tell you if he was the mole if you just asked him.”

At this, Operations allowed a loud laugh. He cocked a look at Nikita that told her plainly that he did not believe her for one minute. 

“You stand there and tell me to just ask Michael if he is the mole and think that he is going to tell me the truth?” Operations’ smile bordered on comical. 

Nikita resumed her stance, now focused on Operations. 

“I think that if Michael were going to betray Section, he would have already told you that he had done it with the expectation of being cancelled straightway afterwards. He is not a defector, though. He didn’t do this.”

“So you say,” said Operations, turning fully towards Nikita.

“I’m sorry, Nikita, but everyone is to be interviewed,” said Madeline, stepping forward again. “There are no exceptions.”

“Those kids attacked Michael,” Nikita insisted. Her anger was near breaking, but she continued to push it back down. “That girl is screwing around with Birkoff’s head.”

“And I’m sure Birkoff isn’t complaining about it one bit,” Operations added. “I haven’t heard from Michael about any of this. Where is he? Why hasn’t he come up to tell us himself what was done to him?”

“Because Michael has been in his Quarters for the past twelve hours recovering from whatever that kid did to him!” Nikita fired back unable to control her outburst. 

Operations looked wide-eyed at Nikita a moment, before turning to the monitors. He typed in a command and pulled up surveillance. In the small square, Michael’s office came into view. Seated at the desk, Michael worked on his computer. He typed on the keyboard and took a sip of his coffee from a glass mug. From the monitor, he looked perfectly normal with no trace of the broken man Nikita had left only a few hours prior to coming into Command. 

“See!” said Operations. “Perfectly fine now. Must not have been too damaging, he’s back at work.”

Nikita stared a moment at the monitor, not really believing her eyes. She returned to Operations. 

“I don’t care what it looks like,” said Nikita. “They did something to Michael and I don’t think that he should have to sit down with them and give them a chance to damage him any further.”

“That’s not for you to decide,” Operations growled back. 

“Nikita, why do you think that they were hurting him?” asked Madeline, seeing the need to step in to calm things down. 

Nikita huffed, not wanting to explain to either one what she had witnessed with Michael. It was enough that they had both seen what losing Adam had done to him the first time. They were witnesses to his complete breakdown. She did not want to further humiliate Michael by telling them about his latest disintegration into despair for fear they may change their opinion of him. She knew they already held a more watchful eye on Michael ever since he began showing her favoritism and compassion. He was put on surveillance more than a few times and shadowed during the few months after he cured Nikita of the Gelman Brainwashing Process. She was under close surveillance as well, and she knew that it was mainly to see if she and Michael would rekindle their affair. They had been careful not to show any sign of their renewed allegiance to one another, but she was certain that they were still suspected. In the wake of the substation attack, Nikita found it hard to manage being so close to Michael and not be able to express herself at all to him. The most they could do was look at each other and even that was being closely monitored. She had told Michael that she missed her apartment, but he knew exactly what it was that she meant. Her apartment had nothing to do with what she missed. She could have been living in a cardboard box outside of Section, and she would miss it because it would be where she and Michael could shed their Section skins and be themselves with one another again. 

“He was hurting him,” Nikita repeated with deep meaning. She looked at Madeline, pleading with her baby blue eyes. “Please, don’t subject him to that again.”

Madeline considered Nikita, then looked at Operations. He shook his head. 

“And I suppose, if we grant him a reprieve, you will want the same courtesy, right?” said Operations with a slight sting to his tone. 

“Yes. I suppose I would,” said Nikita, admitting her truth. “If I were the mole, I’d tell you straight away.”

“Well?” Operations grinned sharply. “Are you?”

Nikita looked at Operations allowing her eyes to burrow deep into his cold and stoney heart. 

“No…” she answered, drawing out the syllables of the word so that it bled into the air. 

Madeline watched warily, seeing what one would say to the other next. Operations only looked at Nikita with both hatred and envy. He gave his PDA to Madeline and put his hands inside the pockets of his slacks. 

“Let’s say I do grant you this dismissal and another substation explodes. Who do you think we are going to look at for explanation? If you want to protect Michael, allow him to be interviewed. If he is truly clear and not the one we are searching for, then his inquiry will be swift and he will be returned back to his normal duties.” Operations took a step forward. “It’s not really Michael we are concerned about. We know he isn’t the one that did this, but...given that you have influenced him in your way towards acting contrary to what Section has instructed of him on numerous occasions in the past, we must be certain of his innocence, wouldn’t you agree?”

Nikita lifted her chin a bit and took in another deep breath. 

“Michael is very loyal,” said Madeline. “We have no doubt that he is not the mole we are searching for. However to keep the peace among the others, we have to interview everyone. That includes both me and Operations as well.”

Madeline stepped past Operations and moved in close to Nikita. She did not touch her, but she was far enough away to offer support without physically engaging her. 

“I’m not sure what it was that Sam did for Michael, but I’m sure it was not malicious. You have nothing to concern yourself with.”

“But Michael--”

“Michael has his reasons why he called Sam into his office to do whatever it was that he did for him. It might not have looked very nice from the outside, but...I’m certain it was something that Michael desired and asked for.”

Nikita paused a moment, remembering the conversation she had with the young telepath named Sam. He seemed genuinely startled and fearful of her gun pointed at his face. She did not feel threatened by him. Not like the way she had with Jerome or Delilah. She was almost sorry that she pulled a gun on him, but he was doing something to Michael. He did not stay long enough for her to reach back out to him to apologize. Like most operatives, Sam had learned to disappear into plain sight. 

“I’m just asking out of respect for what we already know having dealt with these kind of children in the past. We don’t know what they are fully capable of, and we don’t know what their true intentions are,” said Nikita. 

“We are aware of that, Nikita,” said Madeline. 

Nikita looked at Operations. He grinned maliciously in response. Nikita shifted her eyes back to Madeline. 

“I’m requesting once more that we be given a traditional inquiry. We will submit to any detector test you deem appropriate. We will cooperate. We just ask that you not use the telepaths.”

Madeline changed her stance a little, clasping her hands in front of her and looking towards Operations to answer. Operations maintained his grin, his eyes challenging Nikita with every breath.

“No,” he said flatly. “You and Michael will submit to the same inquiry as everyone else. There will be no special treatment given.”

Nikita nodded, angry but accepting of her defeat. 

“Is there anything else that you wish to ask, Nikita?” asked Madeline.

“No,” said Nikita succinctly. 

“Very well. You may return to your station then,” said Madeline.

Nikita turned to leave the office when Operations called her attention back to him. She turned only partially, viewing the pair over her shoulder. 

“If we do find something of concern…”

“You won’t,” answered Nikita. 

“But should we do,” Operations continued. He turned to his monitors and gestured to be handed back his PDA from Madeline. “Watch your six.”

Nikita understood perfectly what Operations meant by his words. She swallowed and left Command. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


Birkoff sat at his terminal and studied the monitors. There were no missions logged while Section was still being audited, which left hardly anything to really do. Operatives cleared to go back out into the field were instructed to remain at their off campus quarters and await further direction from Command. Those that still remained within Section’s walls continued to mill about, aimlessly finding projects to work on to take their minds off of the broadening boredom they were now facing with no missions assigned. Birkoff noted that one of those few was Nikita, still pacing about Section looking more freaked than he remembered seeing her. He heard a rumor that something had happened in Michael’s office that caused Nikita to suddenly become hyper concerned about the telepaths. It was said that she went to Operations to request to not be subjected to the telepaths’ interview, but her request had been denied. Already others wondered if Nikita could, in fact, be a plant from another agency. The numerous times Nikita was sent to her death did not go unnoticed. She seemed to be the only operative throughout the entire organization that was bold enough to stand against Operations and Madeline and survive. Furthermore, she was the only woman in all of Section to align herself with Michael and walk side by side with him rather than a few paces back. It was not a wonder why she was considered a threat. Even though Birkoff did not believe that Nikita or Michael were the mole, he did suspect them of being not entirely sold out to Section and its goals. Since their partnership, Birkoff got the sense that it was Nikita and Michael against Operations and Madeline drawing a very defined line between the two couples.

Birkoff’s attention was pulled temporarily from his monitors as he caught a glimpse of Walter approaching Munitions. Birkoff stood and went quickly over to the old man to greet him. It had been a day since he had seen his friend last, since he was taken down to the White Room for his interview with the telepaths. 

“Hey! How are you feeling?” Birkoff asked breathily. 

Walter looked at Birkoff and smiled his usual carefree smile. 

“Better than most,” he answered.

“What happened?”

Walter waved off the question. “Not much, I don’t think. I sat down. They had me relax, and then…”

“And then what?” Birkoff could not contain his interest. 

“And then, nothing!” said Walter. “I guess I fell asleep or something. Had a bunch of weird dreams. Woke up in Medical. The nurse said I had a mild case of disorientation and exhaustion. They made me lie down and take fluids through an IV. Crazy.”

“You think that happened because of the telepaths?”

Walter shrugged. “Could be. Or it could be that I wasn’t healthy enough to begin with. I didn’t eat anything all morning I was so nervous about the whole thing. In hindsight, I should have, at least, eaten a bagel or something. But, you know what they say about hindsight…”

Birkoff dismissed Walter’s joke. “Do you remember anything of what happened while you were in the White Room? Anything at all?”

Walter’s brow furrowed. “Bits and pieces mainly. Nothing too significant.”

“Bits and pieces of what?”

“Dreams,” said Walter, recalling his experience with some confusion. “Strange dreams...Of a time before Section.”

“Did she touch you?” Birkoff asked. By now, he knew that Walter was growing suspicious of his questions. He tried to relax himself a little, but he knew he could not hide his motives for very long.

“Yeah, she touched me,” Walter answered warily. “They both did.”

“What was it like?”

“Warm. Funny--I don’t know! You went through it, didn’t you?” Walter looked at Birkoff with full suspicion stapled to his face. 

“I did...sort of,” Birkoff admitted. “I sat down in the chair, but I did not get interviewed by the telepaths. I only had to answer the question.”

“Who asked you the question?” asked Walter. 

“Madeline. She just asked if I was the mole they were looking for. I answered her that I wasn’t, but I was sure that she would still call the telepaths to come and interview me. She never did. She let me leave.”

“Well, that’s good, right?” said Walter. 

“I guess,” said Birkoff.

There was still a measure of concern in his tone that Walter caught immediately. He looked about himself, seeing that everyone else on the main floor of Section were presently preoccupied. He took Birkoff by the elbow and led him over towards his station at Munitions. He gestured for Birkoff to be silent a moment as he pretended to grab a panel from the locker and began moving back further into the armory. He waved Birkoff to follow him so that they were not in full view of cameras or of prying eyes. 

“What’s going on kiddo? What’s all this interest suddenly in the telepaths?” Walter did not need any further clues to tell him that something was bothering the young communications officer. 

Birkoff continued to appear as though he were struggling with his words. He looked at Walter, his eyes showing his sincerity and his hopelessness. 

“It’s Delilah,” he admitted finally. 

“The girl?” Walter was a little taken aback. “What about her?”

“She’s been coming to me in my sleep. In my dreams.”

“Your dreams?”

Birkoff nodded slowly.

“How?” asked Walter, very interested. 

“I don’t know how. She just does. When I lie down at night, she is always there...Doing things.”

Walter raised an eyebrow. “What sort of things?”

“Sexual things,” Birkoff answered and gave a look that told Walter of his feelings about his dreams. “Things that I have never experienced before.”

Walter looked at Birkoff a moment, gauging his tale. He smiled slowly, coming to a realization. He patted Birkoff on the shoulder somewhat roughly. 

“So you have a crush. So what. We all do. And...you ended up with a few wet dreams. It’s normal. Trust me.”

“They’re not...wet dreams, Walter,” Birkoff insisted, dropping his voice a little as to not be heard by anyone else passing. “I know what a wet dream is and this isn’t it.” 

“You’re dreaming about having sex with her, right?” asked Walter. 

“Yes, but--”

“And you wake up with a surprise, right?”

“Yes, but--”

“It’s okay, son. You don’t have to be embarrassed about it. We all get them. Hell, after an active day here suiting up all these lovelies, I have several throughout the night! It’s not a big deal!”

“Walter! Listen to me!” Birkoff moved in quickly towards Walter, his eyes wide and full of meaning. “They aren’t dreams. I’m completely awake when she comes.”

Walter’s amused expression melted into confusion. 

“In your room?”

“In my head,” answered Birkoff. “She comes to me in my mind. She tells me things...things about me that I don’t know how she knows. Walter...she says I’m like her, only, I never got developed. She says she can help me develop.”

“Develop? Develop into what?”

“Into what they are,” said Birkoff. “She says the only reason why I’m not like them is I never got the training. If I weren’t here, I would be there with them learning how to use my brain to its full potential.”

Walter backed up a step from Birkoff. He could see in the young man’s eyes that he was being serious with him. 

“So...what are you saying? You want to leave Section One and go to Four?”

Birkoff thought a moment about his answer. He shook his head. 

“No. I don’t want to leave, but...I don’t know. The things that she says...She says I’ll have a partner like the one she has. Sam...He’s her partner. He’s a telepath like her, only he isn’t as strong as her. He acts like an amplifier to her. She can still do a lot of things on her own mentally, but she is much stronger when she is with him. She says she gets that same feeling with me, only I’m stronger than him. It’s why she always comes to me. She says my powers, although dormant, are very strong.”

“Are you listening to yourself, Birkoff?” Walter could not believe his young friend. “Do you really think that you could be a telepath?”

Birkoff looked at Walter. “Yes. I do.”

Walter turned, shaking his head. He started back out towards his workstation to return the panel back to the locker. Birkoff followed him out. 

“Walter, it all makes sense! I knew there was something different about me from day one! Why I’ve been able to learn so quickly, why I’ve been able to figure out the hardest puzzles and decipher lines of code that no one else seems to be able to understand! I can hack into the freaking CIA if I wanted and go through every one of their files!”

“So?” Walter had enough of hearing Birkoff. 

“So! How am I able to do that if I didn’t have something else going on in my head? If I didn’t somehow activate something within me? I can do all these things and it’s so simple to me. I don’t even have to think twice about them. I just do them!”

“You’re a smart kid,” said Walter, turning to face Birkoff. “You’ve been surrounded by all this technology your entire life. You’re well educated and you’re confident. You are very special, certainly, but you aren’t a telepath. You’re not Jerome.”

“I never said I was Jerome!” Birkoff fired back. “Nor do I wanna be. I’m telling you, I am being held back from my potential staying here.”

“So, what, now you’re thinking of leaving?” Walter puffed angrily. 

“I’m thinking of transferring,” said Birkoff heatedly. 

“They’d never let it happen,” Walter growled. 

“It’s not up to them whether I stay or if I go. They won’t be able to stop me.”

“Are you really saying this?” Walter’s voice wavered between outrage and heartbreak. “Do you really want to leave here?”

Birkoff took a moment to think about his words again. He looked out towards the main floor at all the other operatives meandering about. He spied Nikita returning from the lounge holding a bottled water and heading towards her terminal. Michael stood in his office, looking at the training session going on outside of his window. He held a cup of coffee in a glass mug and spoke into a communicator hooked over his ear. Above, Operations stood at the Perch, overlooking the main floor, panel in hand, and only occasionally glancing at it.

“I don’t know what’s left here to stay for,” said Birkoff quietly. “I don’t know who I am here.”

“You’re Seymour Birkoff,” said Walter. “Section One’s Chief Communications Officer and a very vital member to our team.”

Birkoff turned back to Walter. He gave him a slight smile overshadowed by incredible sadness.

“That’s who I am here, but...I could be so much more.”

Birkoff walked slowly out of Munitions leaving Walter to ponder over his parting words. Walter stood, watching Birkoff make his way back to his station and sit down, his expression very somber. Walter shook his head and returned to his own desk. He looked back again at Birkoff and felt a part of himself pull tight with sudden grief. He sighed, feeling the heaviness of his deepest worries begin to rest on his shoulders. He gritted his teeth. Once more, Section was threatening to take away all that he ever cared for one thread at a time. Soon, he would be fully unraveled and left a tangled heap. He had always considered himself one of the last remaining members of the Five Percent Club, one of the few that managed to hang on to his soul. However, he knew deep within that if Section figured out a way to take both Birkoff and Nikita away from him, he would fall out of the club and just be another number in the mass of the unlucky, soulless majority. Walter laughed a little at the idea. He set himself towards updating his ammunition inventory records and thought with some measure of comedy, he would not be lonely in his new club. It might not be so bad being a Section zombie. Afterall, they were all dead anyway. 

End Part One

  
  


  
  
  


  
  
  


  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. PART II

Part Two

Nikita found Michael typing at his desk looking as normal as any other day showing no signs of his mental breakdown hours before. The only telling clue that something had happened with him was the slight red around his eyes and a flush of red fading around his neck. Nikita stepped into the office and closed the door. Michael looked up at her quickly, noticing her demeanor, and reached to secure the room. He snapped the panel back into place and sat back in his seat, his eyes focusing directly on Nikita.

"Feeling better?" Nikita asked knowing her tone was heavy with suspicion.

"Yes," said Michael.

"I was very worried over you," said Nikita as she took the seat in front of Michael's desk. "You were in pretty bad shape there for a bit. Care to tell me what made the miraculous turnaround?"

Michael stared blankly back at Nikita. His iron mask was firmly in place to guard against Nikita's very wary attention. Nikita worked her jaw a little, knowing what Michael was doing and hating the fact that he was doing it to her after all that she had done for him. She did not have to sit up with him all night holding him as if he were a colic-ridden child. She did not have to worry if he was getting peaceful rest when he did finally fall asleep. She certainly did not have to go to Operations and Madeline to request he not be subjected to the telepaths for questioning. She could have simply remained in her quarters or at her station doing random intel scrapes instead of trying to care for Michael in his moment of distress. The way he sat at his desk staring at her, no one would ever guess that he was a sobbing, crumpled mess on his office floor not too long ago.

"Are we not going to ever discuss this?" Nikita picked up on Michael's silence as a refusal to engage with her.

Michael drew in a breath, then let it breathe out long. He clasped his hands on his stomach and kept his eyes steady with Nikita's.

"Discuss what?" he asked.

"About what just happened in here," said Nikita. "About what that kid was doing to you. Whatever he did, it made you a little more than upset."

"I don't think that I was upset, Nikita," said Michael.

"You don't call crying your eyes out not being upset?"

Michael returned to his blank expression. Nikita pulled in her bottom lip, trying very hard to not curse at Michael and his infuriating behavior. She had come into the office full of compassion, only to learn she would be leaving with a rotted pit of confusion in her stomach.

"Don't tell me you don't remember any of that," said Nikita.

"I'm sorry, Nikita. I don't know what it is you are talking about."

Nikita did not stop herself from looking both surprised and annoyed by Michael's answer. She wanted to jump across his desk and slap it back into reality, but she knew she couldn't do that. She knew that his sudden loss of memory was not due to anything he had done to erase it. The telepath had done it to cover his tracks in Michael's brain. He likely already knew that if he had not been permitted to sift through Michael's thoughts, he would be a dead man before nightfall. This might have been to protect Michael as well, but there was still the remaining fact that the telepath was able to get inside Michael's mind and erase his presence there. If he could do that, then what else could stop him from erasing other memories, thoughts, ideas...emotions?

"It's probably for the best you don't know," said Nikita more to herself than to Michael.

Nikita stood to her feet. Michael's eyes followed her, still holding questions in them, but not speaking. Nikita looked at Michael with empathy before turning to leave. She paused just before leaving out the door and turned back towards Michael. He sat, hands folded on his desk, looking serenely back at her.

"How are you feeling?" she asked.

Michael considered the question a moment.

"Fine...I suppose."

Nikita nodded. "Good. That's good."

She gave him a quick smile before leaving him to his work inside his office.

She was barely back out into the main floor area when Walter rushed up to meet her. She could tell by the way he was looking at her that he was very much in distress and needed to speak with her. Nikita stopped walking, regarding Walter's demeanor and turned herself so that anyone looking from Command would not see her reaction or be able to read her response to Walter.

"What's going on?" she asked.

Walter's eyes darted up towards the Perch before settling back down to Nikita.

"I gotta talk to you," said Walter in a hushed voice. "It's about Birkoff."

"What about Birkoff?" Nikita asked warily.

Walter glanced up again, then tugged at Nikita's elbow for her to follow him into Munitions. He led her further back into the armory where walls of rifles, machine guns, pistols, and various other weapons were stored. Nikita waited for Walter to let her arm go and turn to her to speak.

"What's going on with Birkoff?" asked Nikita.

"He's talking strange," said Walter. "He says the girl telepath. Delilah I think she said her name was, comes to him at night in his dreams. She talks to him and tries to convince him that he has special powers or something."

"Special powers?" Nikita looked a little confused.

"Yeah. He says she thinks he is like her, but he hasn't been developed yet. He wants to go back with them to go through their program to become like them," Walter answered.

It was clear that the idea of Birkoff leaving with the telepaths was causing him some great distress. Nikita stood thinking about what Walter said and what she already knew about the telepaths. She could not dismiss her concerns. It was clear that something else was going on besides the inquiry.

"Does anyone else know about this?" asked Nikita.

"As far as I know, I'm the only person he has said anything to about this."

"Has he put in for a transfer?"

"I don't think so," said Walter. "I think he is thinking about it, though. He sounds convinced that he can be a telepath like them. He says Section is holding him back from his true potential."

"Section wouldn't do that," said Nikita honestly. "If they thought that he would be of better use at Four, they would have assigned him there. He wouldn't have had a choice. They would have just done it."

Nikita shook her head.

"He is where he is supposed to be," she continued. "They won't let him go."

"He says it won't be up to them if he decides to do this."

"What did he mean by that?" asked Nikita.

Walter shrugged. "I guess he means that he will force them to let him go. I don't know how though. Maybe he'll get one of them to help him."

"Delilah," Nikita said, connecting the dots.

"Probably. I think the two of them have begun some kind of psychic relationship. He says she talks to him in his mind. Even has sex with him."

Nikita looked at Walter. "Sex? Physical?"

"No, mental," Walter answered. He nearly laughed despite himself. "He swears the dreams are real, that she is coming to him at night to have sex with him. I tried to tell him it was just his fantasies working in overdrive, but he is thoroughly convinced."

"Well," said Nikita, not discounting Birkoff's account. "She could very well be doing that. She can project herself and her will into someone's mind. You went through the interview. What was the experience like?"

Walter rubbed his forehead, wiping away imaginary sweat.

"It wasn't bad," he answered honestly. "It was kind of pleasant. I had a few odd dreams, well, memories. They seemed to fixate on a particular memory. It was kind of uncomfortable then, but when it was over...it was over."

"What happened after?"

"Nothing much. I had to spend a day in medical. They said I suffered from extreme exhaustion. I don't know how, exactly. All I was doing was sitting."

"They were messing with your brain, Walter," said Nikita. "A lot of things could have gone haywire while they were in there looking through stuff. Did they do the same with Birkoff?"

"That's the thing," said Walter. "He says they never interviewed him. Madeline cleared him before he went in to sit. All she did was ask him if he was the mole and then let him go. The telepaths didn't touch him."

Nikita stared for a moment in disbelief.

"Cleared? They aren't clearing everyone," said Nikita. "Madeline said everyone was being questioned. Even herself and Operations."

"Sugar, I doubt they are questioning everyone, especially themselves. According to them, they can do no wrong. It's us they are worried about. The ones on the outside. The Five Percent Club."

"They want to question Michael. I told them that I caught one of them doing something to Michael in his office yesterday. I chased the boy out. I don't know what it was that he was doing to him. He kept saying he was helping Michael, but it didn't look that way."

"Helping Michael? How?"

"I don't know. Michael doesn't remember any of it."

"Of course," Walter scoffed and gave a knowing look to Nikita. He crossed his arms over his chest. He knew as well as anyone else how Michael would have dealt with someone trying to harm him. "Is he okay?"

"He is now I guess," said Nikita. "When I left him this morning, he was still a wreck. I went to Operations to ask them not to use the telepaths to question him. I come back and he is sitting in his office working away like nothing ever happened to him. He looks perfectly fine."

"You sure he wasn't body snatched?" asked Walter.

"C'mon, Walter, be serious," said Nikita, catching Walter's lighthearted joke.

"I don't mean to joke, but you have to admit, Michael has that uncanny ability to turn himself on and off at will. Maybe you just caught him at an On moment."

"I know what I saw, Walter," Nikita pressed. "He did something to Michael then wiped his memory of it. Maybe he extracted something from him, or put something in. I don't know. All that I know is that putting him back in that chair with those kids is a bad idea and could hurt him worse than he already has been."

"The worst thing they could do to Michael at this point is to shoot him. They've taken just about everything imaginable away from him and he is still loyal to the proverbial shield."

"That may be true. I just don't want Michael getting further into his head. He's buried deep enough."

Walter and Nikita fell silent, thinking to themselves all the many different atrocities that were set upon Michael. He was Section's most loyal and devoted soldier and it seemed they treated him the worst out of everyone. Forcing him into unwanted marriages, destroying the home he tried to create with another fellow operative, sending him on missions with little care of whether he would survive it or not, and worst of all, taking away the only child he was allowed to have. Section controlled everything about Michael, even down to who he was allowed to love and care for. Through all of it, despite the mistreatment, he maintained his faithfulness and honored their code, offering his body as a sacrifice with every mission without a single word of complaint. The only time that he ever spoke up for himself and what he wanted, was when he decided to cure Nikita of the Gelman Process. It was the most he had ever rioted against Section. For his efforts, he was only granted temporary relief from Section's mind games before they began toying with him again with the Volker/Red Cell mission. Even though they knew of his deeper involvement with Nikita, it did not stop Madeline or Operations from setting them up as a drug-dealing couple that could be broken apart if Helmut Volker took an interest in one of them. It was of no surprise that Helmut desired Nikita. She often wondered if this was Section's plan all along. Her subsequent marriage to him only deepened the knife stabbed into Michael's heart, and yet, he stood in the shadows doing his part in the mission without so much as a blink against the betrayal.

"Michael will pull through this. He always does," said Walter, reassuring himself more than Nikita.

"Yeah, well, I'm not going to wait about and see. I'm going to find that little brat that did whatever he did to him and make him see the clear picture. They can't just come in here and start erasing things, or implanting ideas, or bringing out old scars. They are here to find the mole and that's it. Not erase memories, or cause our Communications Officer to want to vacate his position all of a sudden."

There was a fury in Nikita's eyes that Walter had seen only a handful of times before. He had missed seeing it there. After so long with her behaving like she was stuck in Autopilot, he wondered if the old Nikita would ever resurface again. He smiled, seeing her brazenness spark back up. Nikita started from the armory when Walter stopped her. Nikita looked at Walter's hand on her arm with curiosity.

"Just be careful going after those two," Walter warned. "You know what happened last time one of those freaks got angry. Operations got a flight lesson he wasn't expecting."

Nikita grinned at Walter. "They aren't ten-year-old boys having a bad day on the playground."

"You're right. They're teenagers! They're much worse."

* * *

Nikita walked down to Level 6 and through the double doors. Two halls led to the different quarter areas of the level. To the left were the temporary pods for operatives spending time at Section during Close Quarters and needing some place to relax while a mission set. To the right were more long term rooms used to house guest operatives and the few in house personnel like Birkoff who made Section One their home. Nikita turned down the right hall and looked to find the right room that held the telepaths. She knew that they were housed close to where Birkoff stayed, but she was not entirely certain which room it was. To her luck, she saw a room door open and allowed out the male telepath.

He was dressed in a plain blue henley shirt and dark denim jeans. His muscular physique could be seen beneath the woven cotton fabric. His black hair fell loosely about his shoulders appearing untamed and yet delicate. He threw a dark look down the hall towards her and began to quicken his pace, adding distance between himself and Nikita.

"Hey! Wait," called Nikita, having to result into a jog to catch up to him.

He stopped and turned to Nikita, his dark gaze leveling with her in a mock challenge. Nikita stopped only a few paces from him, understanding his defensive stance and taking note to approach with great care.

"I'm not here to hurt you," said Nikita.

"You pulled a gun on me," he said, his tone accusatory.

"Yes, but that was only because you were hurting my friend," said Nikita.

"I wasn't hurting him."

"What were you doing, then?"

"I was helping him."

"How?" Nikita took a step closer.

"He asked me to come to him. To help him."

Nikita took another step forward, daring to draw near the boy. She leveled her eyes with him once more, this time changing her expression to one that was less threatening and more understanding.

"How?" she asked, taking the heat off her words.

The boy seemed to relax a little seeing Nikita no longer staring at him so intensely. He looked past her down the hall to see if there was anyone else coming from behind her. Seeing no one, he returned his attention to Nikita.

"I heard him asking for help the very moment we arrived," the boy began slowly. "It was in his eyes. Past what he shows you. It was his soul."

"His soul?" Nikita could not help the look of confusion that instantly planted in her expression.

"He wanted me to relieve him of his pain. At first, I wasn't going to do it. I was just going to do what Section sent us here for, but he kept pleading for me to do it. To help him. I heard it louder than any voice speaking in the room. He was crying."

Nikita took a moment to consider the boy's words. It was true that Michael did want help with dealing with his demons, but he never reached out to anyone to gain it. He always kept his issues secret and remained tightlipped about any turmoil he was going through. The only time anyone ever saw him completely undone was when he was made to give up his son. Even then, he functioned, but at home, he was a mess of tears and anguished cries. He would not even move to save himself when an attempt was made on his life. She had to push him out of the way of a targeted bullet. Afterward, instead of taking the warning and securing his home, he returned to his solitary seat in the center of the room and continued to play a dirge on his cello.

"What did he want you to do, exactly?"

"He called me into his office and asked me if I could do the same thing as my counterpart could."

"Delilah," Nikita filled in.

"Yes, Delilah. I told him my name was Sam and I could indeed see into his thoughts, but only if he allowed me in."

"Not like Delilah can."

"No. Delilah is stronger than me. She can force her way into people's heads if she wants to. I can't. I have to be allowed in, and even then, I can only see what it is that you want me to see. I can't open doors that are closed to me."

"But Delilah can."

"Yes, but, like me, she cannot see everything unless it is revealed. When we are together, however, we can see even what someone is trying to hide."

"That's why she needs you to do this investigation," Nikita concluded.

"If someone is trying to hide the fact that they are the one that is leaking information to terrorist groups, they would want to keep us out of their head. With Delilah and me working together, we can see everything. Even the stuff that people forget is there in their minds."

Nikita crossed her arms. "So Michael let you in?"

"Yes," said Sam. "He wanted me to stop the pain he feels each night...if I could. I told him that I would try."

Nikita dropped her eyes, remembering again Michael's awful, mournful sobs as he lay on the floor of his office. It had been tough enough to go through his loss once, she barely had enough strength to revisit the stress.

"He is a very bound man, Nikita," said Sam. "He feels he can never be free, even if he is ever asked not to return to this place again. He will always remain here...because he is trapped within it in his mind."

"Do you know about his son?" Nikita asked.

Sam nodded. He looked back down the hall again, and, seeing no one, returned to Nikita once more. Nikita was mildly aware of his caution, but she was more concerned about what he had to tell her, than who was coming up behind her.

"I know about Adam, yes," said Sam. "Michael had to let both his wife and his son go after his mission was complete. It was the hardest thing he ever had to do. And the hardest to accept. He is still full of regret. He doesn't want to let his son go. He hangs on to him. The fact that he can never see him again is what eats away at him every night. It is what keeps him awake most nights."

Nikita understood Sam's assessment well. There had been plenty of nights where she wondered if Michael had ever slept at all. He was always awake, doing something, working...searching. Michael seemed to only be able to sleep when he was past exhausted and hemorrhaging on becoming comatose.

"Were you able to help him?" Nikita wondered.

"A little," Sam answered honestly. "There were still some places that he did not want me to touch. So I didn't. He made it quite clear that I was to leave certain areas of his mind alone."

Nikita smirked. It was the old do this and I'll kill you approach Michael always threatened to get his way. Where most others might find his threats empty, more than a few knew that they were not. It was no secret about Section that Michael was not to be toyed with. If he said he was going to kill you, unless something else miraculous intervened, you were most certainly going to be dead.

"What about Birkoff? Did he ask for you to help him transfer in any way?"

"No," said Sam flatly. "Seymour doesn't speak with me. He won't. He fears what I might do to him if he starts getting close to Delilah."

"And what about Delilah. She calls you her partner."

"I am," said Sam. He looked back down the hall again. This time, there was an operative entering the hall where they stood. Sam seemed to relax a little, seeing that the operative was a male and not Delilah.

Nikita, noticing Sam's obvious nervousness, decided to take a different approach.

"Would you like to continue this conversation in your room? That way we can have some privacy," Nikita offered.

"Our rooms are on constant surveillance. There is nowhere that we can talk without the Section knowing about it."

"Is there a way that you and I can speak without Section peering in? You're a telepath, you can speak with your thoughts, right? And you can read mine."

Sam nodded again. His dark brown eyes looked soulful and sincere. Nikita could not help but look back at him with compassion. She noticed he held a magnetism that could be quickly disarming and even alluring if he knew how to use it to his advantage. She found herself becoming more drawn towards him without meaning to. It was a feeling not unlike the one that she experienced with Michael on their first mission. He had tricked her into coming to dinner with him only to set her up to perform a dangerous task of retrieving a PDA from a target. She had felt the scenario a bit deceitful and had hated Michael for putting her in such dire circumstances all so that he could ensure Section that she would be able to complete an assignment. They did not even need the PDA, she later discovered.

"Where is your room?" Nikita asked.

Sam looked at the door next to the one that he had just come out of. Nikita looked at the door, then back at Sam with expectation.

"Well, open it. Let's talk inside."

Sam moved to his door and used his keycard to open it. He held it ajar in a gentleman's fashion to allow Nikita to walk through before turning into the room. He locked the door and walked over to his bed to sit down. Nikita looked about the room, noting its disordered appearance. Although Sam was in his late teens, it was clear that the room now belonged to a boy. His discarded clothing lay over top of his desk and chair while a trail of various other articles of his wardrobe tracked towards the bathroom from the closet. There were remnants of snack wrappers spilling from his wastebasket and several soda cans rested on his nightstand. His bed was not made but left as a heap of twisted sheets and blankets. Nikita noticed also that there was not a surface in the room that did not have crumbs on it.

"They must not let you guys eat snacks where you're from."

Sam gave a small embarrassed grin. He stretched his legs out from him and balanced himself on the edge of the bed with his hands propping him up from behind. Nikita pulled out the desk chair, taking the two shirts slung over the back of it and placing them on the desk. She eased down onto the seat backward, straddling the chair. She crossed her arms over the top of the chair and leaned her chin down on her forearm.

"So how do we do this, exactly?" asked Nikita.

"Well...I-I have to touch you," said Sam, somewhat nervously. "It's the only way that I can communicate with you. I can't read you from afar."

"Okay." Nikita straightened.

"You'll need to come closer."

Nikita got up from her seat and walked over to where Sam sat on the bed. Sam watched her with wary eyes as she sat down next to him on the bed, ignoring the lump of clothes mixed in with the sheets. She half wondered if he bothered with putting away anything as it looked like all of his wardrobes were on the floor.

"Give me your hands," Sam instructed.

Nikita presented her hands, palms up for Sam to take into his. He looked at her fingers first before placing his hands over them. The way he brushed over her palms briefly reminded Nikita of the simple motions Michael made when he met her in her apartment. He had been sent by Section to control her and give her a reason to reconsider her plan to escape with Eric during the Tiburon mission. The feeling of him then was rapturous as he sensuously caressed her wrists. She had allowed herself to get lulled into his seduction too easily, wanting more than what she would admit to herself for it all to be real finally. Her need for him was much stronger than she had imagined and the forbidden taste of his lips made her want to tear him apart. Instead, the interruption of his phone shattered the fantasy and brought the blissful world created by his kiss down like broken glass.

Sam scooted in closer to her and held her hands firmly in his grip. Nikita fought herself to keep her heartbeat steady and not think so much about Michael. She focused her eyes on Sam and readied herself for whatever was to happen next. Sam closed his eyes.

"What is it that you want to know?" he asked.

"I want to know what it was that you did to Michael. I want to know the real reason you are here."

Sam opened his eyes. "I promised Michael that I would not tell anyone what he needed to be done. All that I can say is that I helped him free himself from some very weighty chains."

Nikita nodded. Even in the undiscovered wilderness of his mind, Michael controlled things. In his submission to Sam, he managed to still dictate what would be allowed and not allowed access. Nikita smiled to herself. There was no accounting for the level of strength Michael wielded. He would likely still control the people around him while in a coma.

"Alright. Then can you tell me what it is that you were sent here to do?"

Sam paused, considering her question. His grip tightened about her hands.

George sent us specifically to scrub through every operative to find any hidden moles and defectors, Sam said from his thoughts.

Nikita could hear him as loudly as if he spoke the words. It was an odd feeling. She could almost feel his words as well as hear them.

Does George mean to kill anyone that has thoughts of defecting?

Yes, Sam responded.

Does he think Michael or I defectors?

No, Sam responded.

Have you interviewed Operations and Madeline?

No, Sam responded, then added, we aren't supposed to interview them.

Why not?

They are not being investigated, Sam responded.

By who's orders?

George…

Nikita swallowed. She took in a deep breath.

What does Delilah want with Birkoff?

Sam opened his eyes and let go of Nikita's hands. Nikita looked at Sam, not understanding the sudden dissolve of him from her mind. The feeling was jarring, like being ripped out of a dream. Her abrupt awareness left her with a washed-out sensation.

"What does Delilah want with Birkoff?" Nikita repeated the question.

Sam appeared to withdraw a little more as he pulled his hands back to himself. He did not look at Nikita but instead focused his gaze down. Nikita reached and touched his leg.

"Sam?"

He looked up.

"She wants him," he answered quietly.

There was palpable pain in his voice. Nikita could see clearly that the subject matter was uncomfortable for him. She kept her hand on his leg, hoping that her physical touch would help him feel less anxious about talking.

"What do you mean she wants him?"

"I mean...she wants him," Sam repeated. "She's attracted to him."

"Like...attracted?"

"What you consider attraction, how you define it, is slightly different from how we define it. It's not sexual. It's more than that. It's like hunger and sex running together. His intelligence is strong and gives off very enticing energy. It's his energy she wants. She feeds off of it. She gains power from it. She'll drain it all if she gets it."

"What will that do to Birkoff?"

"Nothing, at first. He probably won't even notice it. If it goes into the Program, he might be able to strengthen himself enough to not be affected by it and become powerful himself. He would become like me...Delilah is a telepath on her own, but her abilities are limited. She can use others to gain stronger abilities, but unless she has another telepath to help her, she can't maintain those abilities. Section paired us together to heighten her strength. I was placed with her because of my ability to sharpen and focus her. She tends to wander in minds, and if left unchecked, she can cause real problems."

"You balance her?" Nikita was beginning to understand.

"I keep her from wandering. I also help her dive deeper into minds for her to extract whatever necessary information we are sent in to search. I help pull her out if she goes too deep."

"Is this what she wants Birkoff to do?"

Sam drew in a large breath, his chest rising as he did so. Nikita could not help but admire how well defined his chest was in his shirt. She averted her eyes away, feeling a bit guilty for eyeing him in the manner in which she did. Sam seemed to not notice this as he pulled his legs up to him and scooted further back on the bed. He rested against the headboard and posed himself into a relaxed position. His expression told her he was still thinking about Delilah's motives with Birkoff.

"She wants to make him an amplifier. If he proves to be more talented than me, she will leave me and go with him. If he ends up making her even stronger, Section will pair them."

"What happens to you?"

"I get thrown back into reconditioning and prepared for another to be paired with. They recycle us like paper cups. Once we are all poured out, they discard us."

"You mean, if you can't help another telepath, they cancel you?"

Sam nodded, unwilling to repeat the words. Nikita sat back a little, awed by the revelation. She always knew Section had cruel and often unfair politics when it came to how it dealt with operatives and their usefulness. She supposed it would be no different for those with supernatural abilities. Once they became of little use to Section objectives, they were disposed of the same as any other operative.

"Do you love her?" Nikita asked, reading Sam's tortured expression.

Sam nodded slowly. "Again, the way you think of love is different from how I think of it."

"In what way is it different?"

"Love is not love in the sense of care and devotion, but rather a need for survival. I cannot survive without her. I love her like a child loves his mother, like a best friend...like a lover. I give her what she needs to be strong. She gives me what I need to stay alive."

"What do you mean to stay alive?"

"I have a tumor. There is a cost to going through the Program and becoming an amplifier to a telepath. You most often will develop a tumor from the extended exertion of your brain. The pain can be overwhelming at times. She helps abate it. She helps keep it from spreading and developing further. Even though I don't want her to want another, I understand. It won't be long before I will no longer be able to do what she needs me to do. I'll waste away into nothing. She needs someone to help her continue. She chose Birkoff."

Nikita stared horrified by what Sam said. The look on his face made her understand him all the more of why he both hated the idea of Birkoff being around Delilah and conceded to it. He was dying and he needed Delilah to keep him healthy for as long as he could service her. In the end, he knew he would fail her and she would leave him for someone else stronger.

Nikita pulled in closer to Sam and held out her arms to him. Sam looked at her with a question. Nikita gestured for him to come closer to her. Pensively, he moved in and rested within Nikita's arms. The scent of his hair and whatever cologne he wore gave Nikita a warm feeling within. He was soft and gentle despite the hard exterior of his body. His arms nearly crushed her as he held her tightly, drawing from her comfort.

"I'm sorry it is this way," said Nikita in a whisper. "I wish that I could help you."

"Don't worry about me," said Sam. "I knew my fate the second I arrived at Four. They told me exactly what to expect. I've accepted it. I know I'm going to die eventually. I just want to try and prolong that time for as long as I can. Until then, if I can help someone with what I can do...I will."

Nikita rubbed Sam's back and nuzzled the side of his head. She wondered if he had ever truly felt the care and love of a woman before. By the way, he was holding her, she realized she was likely the only other woman he had ever touched aside from Delilah. Being so close to him, she also felt how much he longed to be held as well. As if they were both made aware at the same time, they let go of each other. Sam backed away slightly, his expression bordering on shame while Nikita could not help to look amused.

"I'm sorry," said Sam quietly.

"Don't be."

"We don't do much physical touching," Sam explained. "Aside from our fingers, we don't touch each other at all."

"Was this your first hug?"

"The first one I remember...and probably won't ever forget."

The two laughed nervously. Nikita grinned again, enjoying the moment.

"Well, if you want another, I'm stocked full. You're welcome to grab one whenever you like."

Sam smiled a genuine smile back. "You're not as scary as your profile said you were. You're nothing like your profile said you were."

"My profile? You've read my profile?"

"We had to focus our search. We have to know what sort of mind we are going to go into so that we don't get lost. It's like reading a map before going on a trip. We find out where we're going and the best route to get there. Your profile said that you were emotional and full of rage. You murdered a police officer and then denied it ever happened to protect yourself from your inner rage. There were some details of your childhood as well. Pretty painful stuff. It did not surprise me that you were angry about it."

Nikita crossed her arms, feeling a renewed scrape inside about what her profile read about her. She did not like the fact that the telepaths were given access to her psyche files, but she understood the reason. Sam's explanation helped to ease the pain of the intrusion.

"So what is your opinion of me?" asked Nikita.

"You're nice," Sam began. "Loving...Very motherly. I understand now why Jerome liked you so much. You were all that he talked about upon his return. He said you were pretty. So did your profile. Can't say either one was wrong there. Except...you're not pretty...You're beautiful."

Nikita blushed without meaning to. She had heard the compliment before, from countless men. Even Michael had said it a few times, but for some reason, hearing it from Sam made her feel...bashful. She was once more drawn to the definition in his shirt and the gentle look in his amber-colored eyes.

Amber…

Nikita stood up quickly from the bed.

"What's wrong?" Sam asked.

"I think I better be going," Nikita said quickly, being careful not to look at Sam directly.

Sam sat up a little more and reached for Nikita's hand. Gently, he began to pull her back down to the bed.

"Please, don't go yet. I'm enjoying talking with you."

Nikita could not help looking into Sam's eyes again. She practically felt compelled to. Once more, his now light eyes pulled her towards him within a slow, dream-like sensation. Her heart sped up and she could feel a warmth spreading throughout her body. She realized she was leaning in close to him about to press her lips to his. She made herself right and stepped back just as Sam was about to take her head into his waiting hands. He relaxed back down, relenting to her rejection of him. His brown eyes burned golden now.

"I better go now," said Nikita breathily.

She watched Sam warily, seeing him pull back into himself. He did not try and stop her, but instead, turned away from her. The sight of him turning away stabbed at Nikita. She did not want to hurt him, but she also knew it was him that was manipulating her. He had lied in saying that he could not control minds from a distance. It was clear that he could, but it was not for anything malicious. She had not felt threatened or controlled in a restrictive way like what Delilah had done in the lounge. His was more of a gentle plea for her to care for him the same as she did for…

Michael…

He knew about her feelings for Michael, and possibly about Michael's feelings for her. There were things that he said he could not see because of them being locked away inside a person's mind. However, she knew it was plain even for others that did not have telepathic abilities that she cared deeply for Michael. It was the whole reason why Operations and Madeline worked as hard as they did to keep them apart. It was very clear to her that Sam desired the same feeling, and since she was the first person to ever offer him any kind of physical kindness, he wanted it from her.

Nikita left the room, closing the door softly behind her. She could still feel the warmth slowly dissipate from her skin. It had been a gentle feeling, like a spring breeze through an open window. It carried with it a fragrance so light and airy that it made her feel just as feathery. Had she been a few years younger, she would have drawn his name all over her spiral notebook complete with little hearts and kissing lips.

Nikita sighed. She checked her watch and noticed it was near the time for dinner. She started from Level 6 heading to Michael's office. Being left with thoughts of romance and desire, she wanted to be near the one person that could both harness it and regulate it. She knew being in Michael's presence for any length of time would gently subdue her desires and focus her back to the mission at hand. Either that or further make suggestions to meet somewhere that Section could not see them.

* * *

Michael heard the doors to the shower room open and allow in someone. He cracked one eye open to view the silhouette of a petite frame walking towards him through the fog. He remained still as he soaked in the heated waters of the therapeutic bath. It was not unusual for other operatives to come into the area, but they normally remained outside the bath area if it was known someone was using it. They did not simply walk in despite the occupied marker on the door. The petite person materialized from the haze and sat on the edge of the tub smiling. Her head was mostly shaven leaving only a peach fuzz of black hair atop her head. Her almond-shaped eyes peered down at him transitioning in hues of gold, bronze, and hazel. Her full lips were unpainted and smooth, appearing plump and inviting. She was dressed in a red-orange bikini strapless bra and matching hip-hugging panties. She drew her sinewy legs up a little so that she balanced precariously on the side of the tub. Her fingers skimmed the water. Michael sat up a little, looking at the young girl with cautious awareness.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

"What are you doing here?" she countered.

"Soaking."

"Soaking," she repeated with another meaning.

Michael adjusted on his seat, straightening himself a little more.

"What's this about?" Michael's tone dripped with suspicion.

"What do you want it to be about?"

"Don't toy with me," Michael warned.

The girl smiled slowly. She shook her head.

"I'm not toying with you...yet," she said.

Michael felt a chill run through him despite the heat of the water around him.

"Do you want company?" she asked.

"No," said Michael flatly.

The girl smiled and began crawling into the tub anyway. Michael began to object but the girl pressed her finger to her lips, shushing him. He watched her as she maneuvered herself between his legs, her hands gliding up his exposed thighs. He was grateful that he had decided to wear trunks, but they only hid his natural reaction from her touch. Steam began to billow in around her as she pressed in towards him. She maintained some distance from his body and used her hands to balance on his thighs. She drew her knees up, sloshing the water a bit with her motion, and swirling heat about his midsection. Michael moved his hands to the side of the tub and started to lift out. He tried to pull himself from the tub but found he could not suddenly. His legs felt like heavy weights and his arms quickly lost their strength. He slumped back down into the water and sat once more in front of the girl.

She smiled at him, her eyes playfully skimming over his frame. Michael felt himself being restrained where he was. No matter how hard he tried to fight it, he could not resist. Whatever held him made certain he remained fixed in his seat in the therapeutic tub.

"Where are you going?" the girl asked.

"I need to leave," Michael said, his voice just above a whisper.

"Why not stay? Play with me."

"I don't want to play."

"Sure you do," said the girl, pushing in more. Her hand grazed his inner thigh causing him to react. "I can feel it."

"Don't touch me," said Michael.

"Why not? You like it."

"Get off me."

Her hands moved up further on his leg, teasing at the lip of his shorts. The nearness of her fingertips to his more sensitive parts caused him to involuntarily move. He closed his eyes, attempting to shut off the sensation so that he no longer reacted to it.

"Why try and block me out?" she asked, drawing ever closer. "Don't you want to know what it's like? Don't you want to feel me?"

"No…" Michael breathed out. He continued to control himself, but it was becoming more difficult by the second.

"I want to feel you, Michael. I want to feel what it's like with you inside of me. With me inside of you…"

The girl's hands rubbed at Michael's chest, cruising over his muscles and down his stomach. Her fingers grazed him again. Other hands could be felt on him, massaging his neck, rubbing his torso, and tickling along his sides. She pressed her lips to his neck and gently sucked at him. Michael wanted to move away but his body would not obey him. He sat captive in the water feeling the sensation of hands everywhere on him, touching and rubbing him sensuously and beginning to pull from him soft moans of pleasure.

"I've never been with a man before," the girl whispered in his ear. "I've always wanted to. I didn't see anyone that I liked until I saw you. I knew then that I wanted you to be the one...The one to finally make me a woman."

Michael made a hiccup sound as her hands burrowed down into his shorts and grasped him. Again, the sensation of hands curling around him added to the pleasurable tugging happening in his trunks. His eyes rolled back as his breathing became short. Her lips slid over top his, teasing, as her tongue licked along the rim of his mouth. He squeezed his eyes tight, trying once again to force out the sensation of her.

"Why fight this?" she asked imploringly. "I know you want it. You've been starving."

"Please…" Michael found himself brought to begging. "Get off of me."

His body arched up towards her, feeling her grasp him firmly. Her fingers slid up and down his length, urging him forward. Within his mind, he saw visions of her dancing in sultry motions and beckoning him to join with her. He could feel himself relenting, losing his grip on himself.

"Give yourself to me, Michael," the girl cooed softly. "Let me inside."

"No," Michael resisted earnestly.

The water began to feel warmer around him. The sensation of the water and her hands was becoming more than he could take. She tugged at him again. He released an audible moan. His thoughts were beginning to ricochet. The visions came at him rapidly, mixing sensation and visual stimulus. His body heated with the water, pushing him ever closer towards his climax. Her hands left him and tugged at his shorts to pull them down around his thighs. Michael fought himself again, trying to make his limbs move, but once more found them useless. The only thing that he could do of his power was to plead for the girl to stop.

"Ooh," she moaned. "Your fantasies are... delicious! They're so vivid and…" She moaned again. "You're such a dirty little birdie."

She giggled with delight.

Michael twisted his face away from her, trying to catch his breath. His body bucked with every tug, drawing him out further into the abyss of ecstasy. His breathing became ragged as she pulled and massaged him.

"I can make all your fantasies come true, Michael," she said breathily. "All of those dreams you dream...I can make you feel the way you want to feel. I can bring you to peaks of desire that you've never dared to climb."

She moved in the water, removing the bottom half of her swimsuit. Michael gritted his teeth and gathered whatever strength that was left within him. He pulled away from the girl and found life back in his arms again. He pushed her back from him, temporarily jarring her and breaking the hold she had on him. Quickly, he began to scramble out of the tub and landed hard on the tile floor. He tried standing, but his legs felt like jelly beneath him. His trunks circled about his thighs, impeding him from further moving. The girl popped up, half-naked. Her fiery eyes glared at Michael.

Michael pulled up his trunks and scooted backward in a slipping crab walk. Suddenly, his arms and legs no longer worked again. He fell backward, smacking his head against the tile. The girl slowly climbed out of the tub, staring intensely at him as she stalked closer. Michael tried to move his arms again, but could not lift them. The girl squatted over him, lowering herself down to him.

"Stop fighting this, Michael," she hissed. "It's what you want. It's what you always want. You're a Valentine. It's what you do."

"What are you?"

She smiled devilishly, gripping him again with her mind.

"Your lover…"

He felt himself again pulled towards her, his body becoming overwhelmed with sensation. Despite his fury, moans continued to spill from his lips. He trembled. Her hands found him again and began guiding him towards her heated core.

"Back the fuck up off him, bitch!"

The girl looked up, surprised. Nikita aimed her pistol squarely at the girl's head.

"You won't shoot," she challenged.

Nikita cocked the gun. "You sure about that?"

"You won't fire on anyone that doesn't pose a direct threat."

"Obviously, you didn't get the updated version. I'm only going to say this one more time. Get. Off."

The girl let go of Michael and stood to her feet. She kept her grin as she backed away from Michael lying on the floor. Finding himself once more in control of his limbs, Michael sat up and scooted back. His eyes were wide with alarm as he looked at Nikita and then the telepath.

Nikita continued to keep her gun trained at the girl as she took a step closer towards her.

"Now, I suggest you get your shit and get the hell out of here before I have to report an accident."

"Why so serious, Nikita? I'm only doing what so many other women have done. I only wanted to see what it was like. Tell me, how does that make you feel knowing that so many other women get to fuck your man and you don't?"

"I think it's time for you to go."

The girl fished out her panties and began putting them back on.

"You won't be able to stop me," she said. "You can't. I'll have him, even if I have to kill you to get him."

"I wouldn't throw the dice on that bet."

The girl circled warily around Nikita, heading for the door.

"It's a pity," she said, turning her attention back to Michael. "We were just getting started."

She blew a kiss at Michael still sitting on the floor.

"How about you leave now," said Nikita.

The girl looked at Nikita with a very meaningful stare.

"Be seeing you later."

The girl opened the door to the spa room and sauntered out. Nikita waited a moment more before relaxing her gun. She looked over at Michael. He looked back, mouth slightly open in shock.

* * *

Birkoff left out of his room, locking the door behind him. He stuck his keycard into the breast pocket of his button-down over-shirt and turned nearly running into Nikita standing directly behind him. Startled, Birkoff jumped backward.

"Whoa! Nikita!"

"Morning, Birkoff," greeted Nikita with a bright smile. She held up a fresh orange juice from the lounge.

Birkoff looked at the juice with a question then at Nikita. He took it cautiously.

"Thanks."

"Got a moment?" asked Nikita, maintaining her smile.

Birkoff looked around, half expecting there to be someone else to show up and tell him that he was being pranked, but saw no one. There was only Nikita standing, holding her cup of coffee. She was dressed in black, head to toe, which was not her usual style. Even her eyes were lined with black making her bright blue eyes appear electrified. The only thing that hinted at her normal behavior was the bubble gum pink lip gloss she wore on her lips.

"What's on your mind?" asked Birkoff, trying to sound nonchalant.

They began to walk out of the corridor heading for the elevators.

"Delilah," Nikita began, not wanting to beat about the bush. "You have a relationship with her?"

"I wouldn't call it a relationship," said Birkoff.

"But you do talk with her, right?" Nikita asked.

They approached the bank of elevators. Nikita pressed the button for the main floor, Communications, Command, and Munitions were located. Birkoff studied Nikita a moment then drank a sip of his juice.

"We talk," he said.

Nikita turned to Birkoff fully, letting him know without saying that she already knew what he meant by saying that they talk. She put a hand on her hip and drank a gulp of coffee.

"C'mon Birkoff. We're both adults here. What's going on between you two?"

Birkoff blinked. He had changed his glasses from the rose-tinted ones to a pair of plain black frame glasses that fully opened the scope of his eyes. Nikita had gotten so used to seeing him with the other glasses that she forgot that Birkoff had deep brown eyes. With his face no longer hidden by the mask of his glasses, she could see him for who he was. The face that stared back at her was not one of clandestine intrigue and calculating maneuvers, but one of innocence and desire. She often forgot that Birkoff was the youngest member of their team. He was not much younger than she was, but he still was the kid of their rag-tag bunch.

"Nothing is going on between me and Delilah," Birkoff stated plainly. "But I'm sure Walter told you something else."

"He told me about your dreams," Nikita answered, not backing down.

The doors to the elevator opened. Birkoff stepped inside, followed by Nikita. The doors closed. Birkoff pressed for the main floor.

"Walter is a very sick old man. He doesn't know what he is talking about half the time," Birkoff tried to laugh the subject off.

"Walter may be a lot of things," said Nikita, staring at Birkoff with heavy concentration. "But sick is not one of them. I believe him when he tells me that you've gone off the deep end and need to be brought back over. What is she telling you?"

"She's not telling me anything-"

"Birkoff, I need to know the truth!" said Nikita, her voice raising a little.

Birkoff looked at Nikita, noticing her energy and how close she was to him in the elevator. He considered her words and his own. He swallowed.

"She tells me that I'm special," he admitted quietly. "Too special to be here. I could be of much better use there...with her."

"Did she tell you what sort of use you would be with her?"

"I would go through the program and learn how to use my mental abilities to their full potential," said Birkoff, reciting what Delilah told him almost verbatim. "Nikita, I don't belong here."

"What are you saying, Birkoff?"

"I'm saying...I'm saying…" Birkoff shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts enough to finish his point.

The doors of the elevator opened to the main floor.

"I'm saying I don't know what I'm saying. All that I'm saying is that I don't belong here, I belong there...at Four...with her."

Birkoff stepped out of the elevator and started towards his station in Communications. Nikita followed after him, not ready to release him just yet.

"Birkoff, she's lying to you," said Nikita. "She doesn't want you at Four to become like she is. She wants your brainpower. She wants to drain you to make herself stronger."

Birkoff gave Nikita a look of complete disbelief. He rolled his eyes and continued towards his station. Nikita caught up quickly to him and grabbed his shoulder, spinning him around to face her.

"Look, Birkoff, I don't ever get involved in your romantic liaisons. I try to stay out of them, but on this, I have to intervene. You need to stay away from her. She's dangerous."

Birkoff leveled his gaze with Nikita. "She's only dangerous to the one that she's searching for. The mole."

"Birkoff," began Nikita.

"You aren't the mole, are you Nikita?" Birkoff angled his eyes at Nikita, searching her for truth.

"Birkoff, you know I'm not."

"I don't know anymore," said Birkoff. "Ever since they got here, you've been on edge, racing about Section like you have something to hide. Maybe the reason why you don't want me to be with Delilah is that you know that I know how you got back here to Section in the first place. You know that I know that you and Michael have been communicating outside of Section when you were told not to."

Nikita took a step back from Birkoff as he bore down on her with wide, excited eyes. Despite his innocent appearance, Birkoff managed to come off threatening at that moment as he forced Nikita to step backward again.

"What does it matter if I go to Four with Delilah? What would that change here? Operations has Madeline. Walter has...well, whoever he is seeing at the moment, and you...And then there is you...And Michael. What do I have to keep me here? Computers? Status updates? Backlogs? Cyphers?"

"You have us, Birkoff," Nikita pleaded, expressing a bit more emotion than she intended. She could almost feel the pain in Birkoff's words as he explained his reasoning behind wanting to go to Four.

"You guys already treat me like a brain. I might as well become one."

"Birkoff, you don't know what it is that you are getting into," said Nikita. "Four isn't some science lab where everyone simply performs experiments and learns how to bend matter with their thoughts. It's Section with superhumans stashed away within. If you go through their program, you could die from it."

"I could die here," Birkoff countered coldly.

Nikita had no words to give at that moment. She stared at Birkoff, realizing a change had occurred within him during the time the telepaths arrived at Section. He was convinced of his thoughts and stood rigid against anything that spoke against them otherwise.

"Look, I know you don't want to hear this, but-"

"You're right, Nikita, I don't wanna hear anything you have to say," Birkoff interrupted abruptly. "My mind is made up already. There's nothing you can say to change it"

"Birkoff, don't do this," Nikita begged. "Don't break up our team. We need you here with us...I need you!"

Nikita drew close to Birkoff, not caring if anyone else saw them being so near one another. Birkoff looked up into Nikita's face. A part of his defense melted within her gaze.

"You're an important part of Section, Birkoff. This Section. You're one of us, not one of them. Where they need each other to complete a task, you can do it all by yourself. That's what makes you special. That's what makes you significantly more valuable than any of us ever will be. If you go there, you'll just be one of a hundred brains just like yours."

"Is that such a bad thing? To be around kids just like me?"

"I thought you had more imagination than that," said Nikita with a small laugh. "The very reason why you are so valuable and necessary here is because of your uniqueness and offbeat way of solving problems. You said it yourself that you're one of a kind. They don't make'em like you very often, so when we come across one as rare as you are, Birkoff...We hang on tightly. If you go there with Delilah, all you will ever be is a piece along with the other pieces in the lego bowl. No one will be able to tell the difference between you and someone else. At least here, you can still be a lego in the middle of square wooden blocks. You just have to change your perspective."

Birkoff thought about Nikita's words. His brow furrowed slightly. He looked back up into Nikita's eyes and saw her heart reflected.

"All I ever wanted was to belong," said Birkoff more to himself. "I wanted to make sense of my world and figure out how and where I fit in it."

Nikita took Birkoff's face into her hands and gently pulled him up straight by lifting his chin a little off his chest. She peered deeply into him and spoke with blunt meaning.

"You fit in here."

Birkoff tried to turn away but found Nikita's hand firmly in place, preventing him from taking his eyes off of her.

"She doesn't need you, Birkoff. We do. We're your family. You're my family." Nikita pulled Birkoff to herself and embraced him. "You're the little brother I never got to have."

Birkoff tentatively pulled his arms about Nikita, hugging her back. For a moment, the two stood in the hall just before entering the main floor embracing one another. Then, slowly, Nikita pulled away from Birkoff. He regarded her with tenderness and offered a small grin.

"Thanks, Nikita."

"What is family for?"

Birkoff continued his smile as he walked away from Nikita, heading towards his terminal. He cast one last look back into the hall where Nikita stood and smiled again. He took his seat, put on his headset, and turned to his team to accept the first panel from a waiting Communications member. When he turned back to see Nikita, she was gone.

* * *

The heavy metal doors swung open grating against the steel hinges causing a loud whining noise. Two Control Officers walked into the room followed by Michael dressed in a plain black crew-neck shirt and black slacks. He paused a moment, viewing the metal chair before moving to sit down. Behind him, Madeline appeared, wearing a dark green suit and carrying her usual pleasant expression. Michael positioned himself in the chair, placing his arms flat against the armrest and leaning back. His eyes fixed to Madeline, waiting. Madeline stepped forward.

"This is a general inquiry," Madeline began. "Every operative must undergo a series of questions to determine if they are who we are searching for. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Michael said quietly.

The door opened to allow in Sam and Delilah. Michael's eyes went directly to Sam. The two exchanged a look that was not missed by both Delilah and Madeline.

"This will go smoothly if you simply allow them to do their job," said Madeline. "Relax. It won't take long."

Madeline looked to both Delilah and Sam, indicating she was done and turned to leave. Michael watched as the doors closed behind her. His stoic expression remained as Delilah and Sam began to prepare themselves.

Madeline went into the viewing booth and stood beside Nikita. From the monitors, Nikita could see Michael sitting as still as a statue while Delilah and Same took their places on either side of him. Nikita nervously bit her thumbnail and folded her other arm about her in an attempt to steady herself. Madeline watched Nikita's reaction a moment, before turning her attention to the monitors.

Delilah brushed her hand over Michael's ear, admiring him. Sam gave a questioning look before placing one hand on the side of Michael's head and held his other out for Delilah to take. Delilah continued to caress his ears and the side of his face before she took Sam's hand.

"Ready?" Sam asked, not bothering to speak telepathically.

Delilah caught the heat in his tone.

"Don't fight us," Delilah said to Michael. "It will be easier if you just let me in…"

Michael angled a look at Delilah, knowing her meaning.

"Just stay on the path," he said with heavy context.

Delilah smirked. She pressed her fingers to the side of his head, burrowing her nails slightly into his scalp. Michael tensed his jaw at the sharp sensation but remained still. Delilah closed her eyes.

Nikita watched Michael carefully as he sat in the chair, not moving, his expression very blank. The two telepaths stood on either side of him also appearing as though they were turned into statues. Nikita looked over at Madeline. She watched the scene as well, unmoved and expressionless.

"How long is this supposed to take?" asked Nikita.

"They usually don't take that long. A few minutes," Madeline answered evenly.

"Do they ever take longer?"

"Not really. Not unless they find something of interest, or…"

"Or what?" asked Nikita.

"Or, the subject becomes uncooperative. In which case, things may become...uncomfortable."

"Uncomfortable? How?"

Madeline turned fully towards Nikita. Her dark eyes moved over her, contemplating her question.

"Michael has lots of secrets," began Madeline. "Some of those secrets we have in-trusted in him to keep. So long as the telepaths don't try and look into those secrets, his interview should go smoothly and without hazard."

Nikita turned to Madeline.

"And if they try to find out what it is he is hiding?"

"They have been instructed to follow a set of questions that will reveal the information we want to know. Anything that deviates from those questions will be deemed classified information and cannot be taken into consideration for their overall report. Michael is aware of the questions that are to be asked. He is also aware of how to maintain the knowledge we don't want the telepaths to know."

"But what if they try and force him?"

Madeline did not answer. She turned back to the monitors to survey what was going on. The telepaths continued to stand with Michael, having not moved at all. Michael's expression began to change from placidness to mild concern. His jaw dropped a little, parting his lips to expel out a bit of air. Nikita noted he was beginning to grip the arms of the chair. Sam's expression changed as well, appearing now to be under some strain.

"What's happening?" asked Nikita, trying to understand the process.

"They must be digging a little deeper," Madeline answered. "As I said before, Michael has been trusted with a lot of classified information. They may have to dig a bit more to find the answers they need."

"They can just ask him if he is the mole. He will tell them the truth."

"That's not always true, Nikita. You, of all people, know how well Michael can twist the truth."

In the room, Michael continued to appear partially affected as the telepaths worked with him. Sam's expression became more and more distressed. Delilah looked determined. Michael's body pulled up a little in the chair, his head moving back and his mouth dropping open fully. An audible gasped emitted from him. He began to shake.

Nikita righted, noticing.

"What's going on?" There was visible worry in her voice.

Madeline dropped her hands, also noting the change in the room.

Michael began to gasp. His body writhed. Sam looked like he was about to start crying. Delilah snarled.

Nikita had enough. She turned from the monitors and began out of the viewing room. Madeline caught her arm just as she walked past her.

"Nikita, don't."

"Let me go, Madeline," Nikita said with a warning in her voice.

"Let them finish," said Madeline, her tone still very even and controlled.

"It's obvious they are in there looking for something else other than what they are supposed to be searching for. All they have to do is ask him. He will tell them. They are digging too deep."

"We don't know that yet. He could be hiding something important," said Madeline.

"He's not hiding anything! He's innocent!"

"None of us are innocent, Nikita. Least of all, you."

Nikita snatched her arm away from Madeline and gave her a hard stare. She backed away, leaving the viewing room. She raced down the staircase and into the corridor where the interrogation rooms were located. Guards stood outside of the room where Michael and the telepaths were. Nikita approached them, looking very intense.

"Move."

"Sorry, Nikita," said one of the guards. "We can't. Not while the inquiry is happening."

"I said, move. The inquiry is over."

"Where is Madeline?" asked the other guard.

"She sent me down. Move out of the way...and get Medical."

Nikita roughly shoved the guard aside and grabbed the door. The other guard started to pull Nikita away from the door when she quickly landed a stiff chop to the side of his neck, bruising his collar bone. The second guard moved in and received a side kick to the sternum. With both guards temporarily stunned, Nikita pulled open the door and rushed into the room. Michael sat in the metal chair, hands gripping the armrests and his body convulsing. The room filled with screaming, but Nikita could not tell which one it was. Both Sam and Michael appeared to be wailing in unison, melding their cries into a single voice. Delilah held a strange, maniacal smile as she held on to Michael and Sam. Nikita rushed towards Delilah and pushed her off of Michael. Suddenly broken from her trance, Delilah fired a heated look at Nikita and mentally forced her back against the wall.

Sam let go of Michael.

Michael slumped heavily in the chair.

Delilah focused her anger towards Nikita, mentally grabbing her by her throat. Nikita pawed at her neck, feeling unseen hands tightening about her, cutting off her air. Sam looked to Nikita, then back at Delilah.

"Delilah! Stop!" Sam shouted.

Nikita continued to struggle, trying to get a gulp of air, but finding she could not. Delilah's grip was strong and unrelenting. Sam moved over to Delilah and grabbed her by both shoulders.

"Stop! Let her go!"

Delilah turned her attention to Sam. Nikita fell to the floor, gasping. Two Control Officers, Madeline, and several members of the medical team entered the room. Madeline looked at Nikita lying on the floor. The medical team went to Michael and began checking him. Sam continued to hold Delilah. The two appeared to be in the middle of an argument, one that only could be experienced by the two alone. Delilah glared at Sam, obviously disapproving of his position. Nikita stood to her feet, aided by one of the Control Officers.

"Get Michael out of here," said Madeline. "Nikita, too."

The medical team nodded and hoisted Michael up from the chair. They carried his limp body out of the White Room and placed him onto a gurney. Quickly, they wheeled him down the hall, heading for Emergency Med Lab. Nikita looked to Madeline, then at Delilah. From around Sam, she could see Delilah, smiling darkly back at her and beginning to giggle.

Without words, she heard Delilah speak.

You're next…


	3. Part 3

Part 3

The beeping of the bedside monitor almost lulled Nikita to sleep as she sat next to Michael. He lay on his back, white blankets pulled up to his chest, with several lines running from under his white t-shirt to the monitor. An IV bag hung next to the monitor slowly dripping fluids into one of the lines. Michael’s eyes fluttered as he dreamed dreams that left him twitching at times. 

A nurse entered the room and went over to Michael’s monitor. She studied her panel against what the monitor read, then made a few notes on her screen. She pulled a penlight from her lab coat and clicked it on. She pulled open one of Michael’s eyes and shined the light into them, checking his eye movements. She made another note on her panel, then checked the drip on the IV. Satisfied, she turned to leave the room. 

“Excuse me,” said Nikita.

The nurse turned. Nikita read her name badge. 

“Nurse Mallory? How is he? How is Michael? Is he going to be okay?”

Nurse Mallory looked at Nikita with kind eyes. She held her panel close to her almost hugging it. 

“He is going to be fine. He will need to be here for another day or two for observation. He will need lots of rest.”

“Can he wake up?” asked Nikita, looking over at Michael. 

“He’s in a medically induced coma.”

“Why?”

“To reduce the risk of any further brain damage occurring. His brain needs time to heal.”

“Brain damage?” Nikita looked at Michael again, fearing the words Nurse Mallory spoke. “He could have brain damage?”

“From the effects of the deep probing. We won’t know exactly the extent until the cat scans come back to show if there was”

“And if there is?”

“We will make decisions on what to do then. We have to wait for the scans to return. There really is no way of knowing until then. All that we can do right now is wait.”

Nurse Mallory looked over at Michael, considering her patient before turning and leaving the room. 

Tears welled in Nikita’s eyes as she looked at Michael. She rubbed his hand lying lax on the bed, then curled her fingers around his. 

“I’m right here, Michael,” she whispered. “I’m with you.”

A tentative knock sounded at the door before it opened. Nikita quickly wiped her eyes and looked to see Walter peeking in. 

“Everybody decent?” he joked with a slight grin.

“Come in, Walter,” said Nikita. 

Walter pulled himself into the patient room and stood just inside the doorway. He wore his usual worn blue jeans and brown buckskin jacket despite the warmth inside of Section. His ponytail braid was accented with a brown leather tie and a dark blue bandana. His deep brown eyes looked over the scene, noting Michael’s lifeless form lying on the patient bed hooked up to various monitoring machines. Nikita sat next to him, wearing only a sweatshirt and jeans with her hair down around her shoulders. She looked as though she had not had much sleep in the past day. He understood why. Out of all the operatives interviewed, including himself, Michael seemed to have reacted the worst from the probing. 

It was said that because Michael had so many locked doors in his mind, the telepaths became suspicious and began tugging at everything, resulting in Michael unintentionally fighting them. No one knew why Madeline did not stop the interview before the situation got out of control. Nikita was the one to come in to try and save Michael before things became serious. It was also said that the telepaths had begun fighting each other shortly after Michael and Nikita were taken to medical. The male telepath shouted at the female, accusing her of being a seductress and brazenly flaunting her wantonness over both himself and nearly every male they interviewed. She was growing drunk with power and becoming out of control. He wanted her to stop. She, on the other hand, wanted to keep doing as she pleased and would not bend to him. She was more powerful than he was and he could not tell her what she could and could not do. 

No one could.

“What are they saying?” asked Walter, daring to take a step inside the room. 

Nikita sighed, heavy with worry and exhaustion. 

“They don’t know yet,” she answered carefully. “They are waiting for his scans to return before they make a definite determination. Right now, all we can do is wait.”

“What are they saying is wrong with him?”

Nikita looked at Walter, unable to successfully hide her feelings from him. He returned a sympathetic look, understanding her worry. He moved in closer to her, placing a hand on her shoulder for reassurance. Nikita swung her gaze back over to Michael and squeezed his hand.

“They think he might have brain damage,” Nikita whispered. Her voice hitched a little at the sound of saying the last words. 

Walter folded his lower lip into his mouth, biting back his own emotions. His heart pulled tight in his chest. Out of all the operatives in the building, in all of Section, the one person that seemed invincible lay in a patient room incapacitated. He had thought the worst that Section could do to him was put a bullet in his head, but he was proven wrong yet again. The worst that Section could do to both Michael and Nikita was make Nikita into a nursemaid to an invalid Michael. It was bad enough for her that he was emotionally crippled. He had to be after all the things he was called upon to do for Section. If he became a vegetable, he would not only be emotionally severed from Nikita but mentally as well. For her, as devoted and loving as she was, she would undoubtedly settle with caring for Michael’s body. She would do this all the while knowing the part that she loved the most was gone forever.

Walter shook his head. 

“He’ll pull through, sugar,” said Walter, once more telling himself this more than Nikita. “He’s strong. Resilient. And most of all, stubborn. He’s not gonna let some half-pint kid take him out.”

Nikita looked up into Walter’s face and smiled. She leaned into him, encouraging a hug. Walter squeezed her shoulders. 

“You’ll pull through too, kiddo.”

  
  


* * *

  
  


Walter returned to the main floor after leaving Nikita and Michael alone in Medical. His thoughts trailed back to his own experience with the telepaths and his subsequent stay in a recovery bay getting pumped with vitamins and other nutrient fluids. The entire event had felt more like a really bad trip on some very old psychedelics with effects that were not fully known. He had felt a slight undercurrent of sexual energy during his time in the chair, but it was faint and not entirely directed towards him. Instead, he only felt warm and comforted as if being rocked to sleep. When he awoke, although weak, he felt fine. Others, he heard, came away feeling much the same way with only a handful stating that they had to go straight to Medical after their inquiry. Given that Nikita said one of them attacked Michael in his office, he wondered if the effects from the attack and then the interview resulted in his present state. With Nikita scheduled next to be interviewed, knowing her feelings about the whole ordeal, Walter feared the worst. 

Michael was compliant with the process, sitting obediently in the chair and allowing the telepaths to do as they were instructed to do. Only when they began digging about in places they were told not to go, did he put up resistance. The result landed him in Emergency Medical in a coma with a threat of brain damage. Nikita most certainly had secrets and doors that she likely would not want to be opened. If the telepaths decided to try and open those doors, he was sure Nikita would fight and likely end up worse off than Michael. 

Ahead, Birkoff passed by Walter holding a panel to take up to Command. Walter moved fast towards Birkoff, calling for his attention. Birkoff stopped, noticing Walter coming up quickly to him. 

“Michael is in Medical,” Walter started, not bothering with pleasantries. “The telepaths went too deep.”

Birkoff blinked in response. “Is he okay?”

“They got him resting. Had to put him in a coma to give his brain time to heal. They fear he might have brain damage.”

“Michael?” Birkoff could barely believe what he was hearing. 

“Yeah. Michael!” Walter said. “Your girlfriend nearly killed Nikita.”

“Walter…” Birkoff began. He could see heat beginning to rise from Walter as he became more agitated. “There must have been a mistake. Something must have gone wrong.”

“They’re going to take out our best operatives,” said Walter. “One by one and Madeline and Operations are gonna let them do it. They’re already trying to get you out of here. Make you one of them.”

Walter could not help the emotion behind his words. He was trembling as he spoke, hating everything that had been that week. From the day the telepaths showed up, he felt an uneasy pit rolling in his stomach. He could always tell when something was about to go awry at Section. He had called it his sixth sense. For as long as he could remember, he felt the sickening drop in his belly, followed by an awareness that transcended beyond normal perception. Madeline had described it as a sort of precognition and mused about ways in which Section could use such a gift. He was flat in telling her that he did not want to be used as a sort of danger litmus test. He looked at Birkoff, hoping he was getting through to him. 

“Getting rid of our best operatives would weaken Section One. Madeline and Operations wouldn’t want to do that,” Birkoff reasoned. 

“No, but if they were being controlled to do so…”

“Are you saying Delilah and Sam are controlling Madeline and Operations?” Birkoff posed in a stance, placing his hands on his hips and studying Walter. 

“Look, I don’t know what is really going on here. This whole thing has been screwy from the jump. What I do know is Michael is laid up in medical with a swollen brain and Nikita is about to go in the chair next. She says she’s already had a bad confrontation with one of them so far. How about you do her a favor and talk to them and get them to go easy on her. Not tear out her brain like they tried to do to Michael.” 

“Why do you think that I could convince them of anything?”

“Evidently, they’re your friends,” Walter shot back. “You could at least try and help us before you run off with them.”

“I can’t do that, Walter. They won’t listen to me.”

“Maybe you should try before you give up. It’s Michael and Nikita we’re talking about here! Goddamnit! They’re trying to tear out our souls, for Christ’s sake! If they can get rid of Michael and Nikita, what’s stopping them from getting rid of the rest of us? Do something for your team before you leave. Give us a fighting chance to survive.” 

Walter walked away from Birkoff, no longer able to hold himself together. Tears began rolling down his cheeks before he could make it into the back aisles of Munitions. 

Birkoff looked after Walter. He felt both confused and fearful of what Walter had told him. He looked up into Command, spying Operations and Madeline having yet another in-depth conversation. He looked again towards Munitions. It had surprised him to see Walter so animated. Lately, he was on edge all the time, trying to cover his anxieties with off-color jokes and the occasional inappropriate quip. The flurry that had been Section after the bombing had made everyone feel dizzy and unsure of what to do next. The arrival of the telepaths did nothing to calm the general feeling of uncertainty among the operatives. He had felt that Delilah would be the more rational one between the two. Sam always eyed him with suspicion and perhaps jealousy. From the few conversations he did have with Delilah, he assumed their presence at Section was benign, only following the orders given to them by Madeline and Operations when searching out the mole. They had no other intentions and would have wanted to remain at Four rather than coming to Section One to be used as biological lie detectors. 

“You should come away with us,” said Delilah in the sanctum of his inner thoughts. 

She always came to him in his sleep, sharing with him the most beautiful visions and sensations that went beyond what he knew he could physically experience. He loved how she would change her appearance each time, on occasion appearing with long flowing dark hair, other times with white curls or bluish-purple braids. His favorite was her long hair which she used to tease him as she caressed his face and chest with her fingertips. Although he knew he was actually alone in his room, he could not help but believe the visions and sensations she gave him. They were so vividly real, he often awoke seeing the trails her nails left on his chest as she raked them down his front. Knowing that she posed a threat to both Nikita and Michael was something he had not expected and least of all wanted to believe. He could believe that Sam might have wanted to hurt them as he always seemed to hold some type of maliciousness in his gaze. 

But not Delilah. Not his sweet and tender Delilah. She would never hurt anyone. She would not even hurt a fly…

* * *

  
  


Madeline walked into Command with her panel in hand and her chin lifted. Standing at the Perch, Operations looked over several mission profiles displayed on a line of panels. A Comm unit rested in his ear. An in-field team leader babbled about the results of a blowback mission aimed to pit a cell of anarchists in Eastern Europe against another group of terrorists. Madeline waited for Operations to end his call before taking a step forward. Noticing her, he turned his gaze towards her, freezing her in place with the pierce of his metallic eyes. 

“There has been some progress in our search,” Madeline began. She handed Operations the panel. “The telepaths have identified two that may be the moles we are searching for.”

Operations grinned as he took the panel and looked over the report. He viewed the profiles of the operatives in question then raised an eyebrow. 

“Where are they now?” he asked. 

“In Containment. They are being prepped for further interrogation,” said Madeline. 

“Good. Let me know what the final results are after your visit.” Operations handed Madeline back her panel. He turned his attention back out towards the main floor observing the activities below. “What is Michael’s status?”

“Improving,” Madeline answered. “He is still under sedation. His lab scans came back negative for brain damage. He has had some swelling, but nothing significant. He is currently being given medication to help reduce the inflammation. He also may be concussed. He will need to undergo further observation and testing to be certain, but his condition does not appear to be critical. After some rehab and therapy, he should be able to return to active status within a few weeks.”

“Weeks?” Operations gave Madeline a look that told her plainly that he did not like that answer. “He is going to be down that long? What the hell did they do to him?”

“From what they have told me in their report, Michael had more than a few areas that were harder to get into. He put up some resistance which made them suspicious. They, eventually, found nothing pertaining to what we asked them to find out. However, the damage was already done. It did not help that Nikita broke their contact, possibly further causing more harm than what she was attempting to prevent.”

Operations let out a huff of contempt. 

“Why was she even there?” asked Operations. 

“She wanted to see,” Madeline answered plainly. “I saw no harm in it.”

Operations made another sound in reaction. She could tell by the smirk on his face that he did not agree with her statement. 

“There are five other operatives left to be interviewed. Nikita is one of them,” said Madeline. “I feel it might be best to simply put Nikita through general inquiry instead of allowing the telepaths to enter her mind. She has only recently recovered from the Gelman Process being reversed. The telepaths might find her answers to their questions...confusing.”

“Now you’re on Nikita’s side? That’s very odd of you. It’s not like you,” said Operations. He turned back to Madeline and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Did she put you up to this?”

“Of course not,” answered Madeline, her tone very controlled. “I’m only stating the facts about Nikita’s condition and the process the telepaths must go through to find out the truth. Nikita’s memories and feelings are still very shut away, which is what we intended. What might be seen as a thought or plan of mutiny, might be something far less nefarious.”

“If she isn’t hiding anything, she won’t fight them if they start digging a little to get to the truth.”

“I agree. If she is forthcoming with her answers, the interview will go smoothly with no incidents.”

“Then it is settled. Nikita goes with the last group to be interviewed.”

Madeline shifted her weight a little, resting more on the balls of her heels. 

“I’m only concerned about how this will affect Nikita’s brain once this is over. We have already tampered with her mind--”

“And Michael managed to fix her, somehow,” Operations interjected. 

“He managed to put her in remission,” Madeline corrected. “Nikita is not fixed. If the telepaths probe too deeply, we may lose her completely. They nearly took out Michael. I doubt Nikita has the same mental fortitude. The process may kill her due to her already compromised psychological status.”

“I don’t give a damn if it kills her or turns her into Wonder Woman. If she claims she is a team player, she will sit in that God-forsaken seat and let whatever is to become of her, become of her.”

“I simply think that we should strongly consider what has already been done to Nikita up until this point. Having her be probed might cause some unforeseen side effects that could permanently damage her and may even render her useless to us.”

“If she becomes useless, then she will be canceled,” said Operations. 

The severity in his eyes made Madeline stiffen a little in response. She was used to his cruel nature and the venomous words he often spoke, but she could never hide how it made her feel. She straightened a little more making herself appear not only strong but resolute as well. 

“It is just my opinion that--”

“When I want your opinion, Madeline, I will tell you what to say,” Operations interrupted again. His eyes bore heavily down on his second in command.”Now...I expect you to go to Containment and interview those two treasonous operatives and return to me with your results. Meanwhile, Nikita will get ready for her date with the telepaths. Am I clear on this?”

Madeline nodded. 

“Is there anything else that you want to talk to me about?” It was clear in Operations’ tone that he was not very interested and possibly even annoyed about anything Madeline may have needed to add. 

“One other thing,” said Madeline, reading his expression, but continuing despite it. 

“What?”

“An operative has put in a request to transfer to a different Section.”

“Request for transfer?” Operations said the words as though they were detestable. “Who?”

“Birkoff…”

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


Birkoff watched from down the hall as Sam exited his room and started towards the end of the hall opposite where he stood. He thought a moment about what it was that he was going to say. He felt odd going to purposefully speak with the male telepath as they had never exchanged even a pleasant glance towards one another. However, for Nikita’s sake, he had to try and do something to keep them from harming her.

Walter’s words were like nails into his skin. He had known that those that went into the chair sometimes reported feeling disoriented shortly after leaving the White Rooms. Others stated that their experience was not unlike waking from a bad hangover. Still, others reported no effects or even knowledge of the interrogation even occurring. Only a handful of operatives were made to go directly to Medical. Michael was the only operative that had the worst effect from the interrogation. He surmised it was because he held secrets already and could not be as open as the other operatives. It was not missed that Michael was a very private individual. Not much was known about him. He figured this was on purpose. Even the man’s personnel files were held under lock and key by both Madeline and Operations. No one knew where Michael lived, his motives, his real personality if he ever cracked a joke, or even went to the bathroom. For all anyone knew about Michael, he might as well have been a robot programmed by Section to run missions and train recruits. Nikita was the only other operative that had seen a different side of Michael, a human side. She was the only one that found out the information that not even their surveillance team could find out. She knew more about Michael and who he truly was, and yet, even she seemed baffled by him at times. With the telepaths digging about in the dark corners of his mind, the reason that he ended up in a coma might have been that he attempted to control what they knew. 

“It will hurt less if you just let me in,” Delilah said. 

Michael never let anyone in. Not Nikita. Not Madeline, and certainly not Delilah. He was instructed to keep Section’s secrets and he would hold to his promise until his final breath. 

Birkoff quickened his pace to catch up with Sam. His stocky frame rounded the corner, heading towards the back stairwell. He almost appeared like a shadow, dressed in dark grey and black, his hair long on his shoulders and his boots barely making a sound against the steel and concrete floors. When they reached the stairwell, Birkoff raced up the steps coming up directly behind Sam. 

Sam cut a glance back at Birkoff, then, without warning, forced Birkoff back against the railing. He squeezed tight at Birkoff’s chest for only a short moment before releasing him. Startled, Birkoff tensed and grabbed the rail for support. 

“Why are you following me?” said Sam.

“I-I,” Birkoff stammered, unable to catch his breath fully. The sudden pressure at his chest made him feel like he had been hit with a large weight, knocking the wind out of him. “I need to talk to you.”

Sam looked warily at Birkoff who bent forward, coughing. His large brown eyes found Sam again and stared pleadingly up towards him. 

“Please,” Birkoff begged. 

Sam relaxed a little. “What do you want?”

“Just to talk, nothing more,” said Birkoff, holding his hands up defensively. “Just talk.”

“About?” Sam crossed his arms over his broad chest. 

Even without telepathic and kinetic powers, he was still a formidable figure standing in the low lighting of the back stairwell. His dark eyes looked black in the neon cool blue lights.

“Nikita,” said Birkoff pointedly. 

“What about her?”

“She’s next to go in the chair. I want to know if you guys are planning to do to her what you did to Michael.”

“I did nothing to Michael,” said Sam stiffly. 

“You put him in a coma,” Birkoff fired back.

“I didn’t put him in a coma. I protected him.”

“Protected him from what?”

“From Delilah. He continued to reject her. She wanted to make him pay.”

“How?” asked Birkoff.

“By causing him to suffer. We were already done with our interrogation for nearly five minutes in. He answered our questions. I started to pull out when Delilah stayed. She toyed with him. I told him he would tell her everything she wanted to know. She would make him surrender to her. Then…” Sam could not continue the rest. He turned his head from Birkoff. 

“And then what?” Birkoff pressed, taking a daring step forward off the railing. 

“She’s not what you think she is, Seymour,” said Sam, adopting Michael’s quiet manner of speaking. “She’s a temptress. She will do whatever she has to to get what she wants. She’s dangerous.”

“What did she want from Michael?”

Sam turned back to Birkoff, his expression serious. 

“You know what she wanted from Michael. You’ve seen him. She wanted him to be her first.”

Birkoff was taken aback, but not entirely surprised. There wasn’t a woman on earth that did not want to sleep with Michael in some form or fashion. A few men as well. He often wished he held the same charisma and magnetism as the veteran valentine, but he also knew the trait came with its drawbacks. Michael could always turn women on and off like light switches and often treated them with as much care as he would a science project. When it was over, it was over...for him. Not so much for the women, he always manipulated. They were left to sulk and brood, wondering when it was or what had they said to make him treat them so coldly. Not all of them walked away. Some remained linked to him, waiting for the moment he returned. However, these women never came directly at him. Those that did found themselves suddenly transferred, or worse, canceled if they simply could not let go. With Delilah, it was not much different, except she could force Michael into submission. Even if he did not want to give her what she demanded, she could make him do it by the will of her mind. With him now in medical, lying in a patient room with possible brain damage, it was clear that if she did not get what she wanted, she would destroy him instead.

“Has she tried it with others?” asked Birkoff. He did not really want to know the answer, but he had to ask it despite how he felt. 

“A few others,” said Sam. “All Valentine Operatives. Michael was the only one she targeted, though. She said she wanted the best.”

Birkoff sneered a little. Again, he was not surprised. 

“What does she want with me?”

“She wants you to join her at Four,” said Sam plainly.

“But you’re with her.”

“I won’t be for long,” said Sam quietly. His dark eyes moved from being near black to being almost hazel in color. He moved towards the opposite railing, leaning against it. “I’m dying. I know I don’t have long left. Maybe a few more years. As long as she continues to help me stay in remission, I will stay with her. If she leaves…”

“Section will help you, won’t they? I mean, they could help make you better, right?”

Sam looked at Birkoff relaying to him without words what Birkoff already knew. 

“When I’m no longer of further use to her, she will leave me, and I will go into the hospital to waste away like all the other amplifiers. It’s what they do with us. They use us until we’re all emptied out, then they discard us.”

“Us?” Birkoff was beginning to understand, but he did not want to hold on to the truth.

“Yes. Us,” Sam went on. “Why do you think Delilah has focused on you? She was right in saying that you are special. You are. But the only way you’ll ever be a telepath is if you are trained to direct your mind to nothing else. To use your energy to give to her and others just like her. They call us amplifiers or boosters. It’s what we do. We get some residual perks for being used for what we are used for, but in the end, we die from the side effects of the Program.”

“What about Jerome? Is he a telepath like Delilah?”

“No. Jerome was a projector. A reader of sorts. Section uses those like him to locate certain things or people. They use those like Delilah and me to interrogate. You would be used in the same way...unless they find something better for you to do with your brain. Either way, since you were never born with the mutation, you’ll have to undergo an extensive neurological reconditioning to make your brain into one that a telepath can use to strengthen themselves.”

Birkoff sighed heavily, understanding the full scope of what Sam was saying. All the nightly visits and long discussions held within his mind with Delilah came back to him with heartbreaking clarity. It was not that she ever lied to him. She told him the truth. She wanted him to be with her, to join with her. She wanted him to come to Section Four and join the Program to make him stronger so that he could be paired with her. She said she wanted him.

Yet, she never specified in what way.

“I’m worried for Nikita,” said Birkoff, after a long moment. “I don’t want her to get hurt like Michael. Nikita has a lot of secrets too, some that she may not remember that is locked away deep inside. Section did something to her to change her. She’s not quite the way that she was. If she has someone tampering around in her head, it could cause more damage than what has already been done.”

Sam nodded, understanding. “When she came to speak with me, I detected something blocking me from going further. It was a wall. I sensed there was something beyond the wall, but I could not break through, not without Delilah. Not without permission.”

“Is she the mole?” asked Birkoff. 

“No,” said Sam resolutely. “We’ve already found the moles. Madeline took them away yesterday morning after our interrogation.”

“Why are they continuing the inquiry if they already have the ones they are looking for?”

Sam’s expression went blank for a moment, detecting something. He looked up just in time to see an operative out of Systems beginning to descend the staircase. Birkoff saw the operative as well and fell silent as they two waited for them to disappear into a doorway, heading towards another area in Section. Birkoff returned to Sam. 

“We aren’t safe here to talk,” said Sam.

“We can speak with thought,” said Birkoff.

Sam shook his head. “No. I can’t right now. I’m too weak.”

“Does Operations think Nikita is the mole?” Birkoff asked in a hushed voice. He moved in closer to Sam.

“He doesn’t believe that she is the mole, but he does believe that she is hiding something. He wants to know what that is.”

Birkoff looked around the stairwell again, hoping that there would not be another operative, worst of all anyone from management to see them speaking. Sam waited, also noticing Birkoff’s worry and looking warily around them as well. 

“Can you protect her?” Birkoff asked finally. 

“I can try,” said Sam. “Delilah is very strong and very determined to get what she wants. She already doesn’t like Nikita because she thinks that Nikita is trying to keep both you and Michael away from her.”

“Well, in a way, she is.”

“I know. She has made it plain that she will kill Nikita if given the chance. She doesn’t care if she gets blamed for it. She thinks that she can get away with anything. Control anybody. Even Operations.”

“Has she tried?”

“No...But I don’t put it past her to attempt.”

Birkoff sighed, then rubbed his head with his hand. He balanced his other on his hip, processing all that he learned. Sam moved off the railing and came closer to Birkoff. He reached for him, placing his hand on the side of his head. He closed his eyes. In an instant, Birkoff saw visions of what Section Four really was through Sam’s eyes. He saw children, all dressed in much the same way that Jerome had come to them, in matching monochrome grey suits. Their heads were shaved so that they all appeared genderless. Nothing separated them from each other. Computers surrounded them. A continuous blue light illuminated all about them casting muted shadows against pale white walls. Each person, young or old, that assed him, all held the same barren expression on their faces. There were no smiles, no laughter, not even the occasional smirk. Their eyes held a dead look within them that oddly felt both unnerving and familiar. Birkoff realized then where he had seen the same look before. It was the same look in every operative that underwent reconditioning or adjustment. It was the same look in Jurgen’s eyes, in Michael’s, and now in Nikita’s. 

The vision changed and he found himself within another chamber. There were pods holding children and teenagers, all in hypersleep. Above them, monitors kept careful accounts of their vital readings, what chemicals were being injected, and what stage of conditioning they were in. Some pods read Status Complete. Women in long white coats and carrying PDM panels approached these pods and pressed a series of buttons to open the lids. Another team of medical doctors came and removed connecting tubes feeding into the arms and neck of the bodies. Once they were freed, the attendants lifted the limp bodies from the pods, placed them in wheelchairs, and carried them into an adjoining room to be further tested. 

This is done yearly, Birkoff heard Sam’s disembodied voice state. They are conditioned, tested, and reconditioned until they meet the required scores to be used as amplifiers.

They circled around the pods, viewing each face behind the glass. Some looked about as old as Sam and Delilah, others were children ranging from eight to twelve years old. One face was a little African girl, head shaved bald and tiny fingers curled at her chest. She looked to be barely five years old. Tubes ran from her tiny arms and into a panel positioned just behind the pillow her head rested on. The pillow, itself, was a sensory regulating device used to block out all other stimuli.

Sam’s hand dropped. He stumbled backward, falling against the railing once more. He looked completely drained and in considerable pain. Blinking for a moment from having been ripped from the vision, Birkoff found Sam. Quickly, he went to him and pulled him upright against him. 

“Take me back to my room. I need to lie down,” said Sam within a breath.

“I’m taking you to Medical. It’s closer.”

Sam’s eyes rolled towards the back of his head. Birkoff, summoning strength from somewhere within, pulled Sam’s near lifeless body up the remaining steps heading towards Level 4. After some struggle, he managed to heft Sam into the emergency area of the medical unit and deposit him onto a bench. He raced to find a nurse and guide them back to where Sam sat.

“He needs help,” said Birkoff. He tried to hide his agitation, but he knew it was bleeding from every syllable.

The nurse looked at Sam, slumped down on the bench, sweating profusely. She looked back at Birkoff who gave her a wide-eyed implore for her to do something. Understanding, she went into action, checking Sam for alertness. Seeing that he was floating in and out of consciousness, she radioed for additional assistance. Several more nurses raced over towards Sam, pushing Birkoff out the way. Within moments, Sam was on a stretcher being wheeled back towards triage for further care and testing. Birkoff stood in the middle of medical watching and felt a large pit widening in his stomach. Sam had shown him what Section Four was and it was nothing like the way Delilah had described it. 

She had lied to him. She had told him that he would finally find a place to belong. She said that they would be together.

“It requires total stimulus isolation…No emotions. No physical contact...They’re raised like veal…”

Birkoff’s own words returned to him with even more meaning than when he flippantly spoke them to Nikita months prior. He had known then what it was that Sam showed him, yet he wanted so badly to believe Delilah, that he dismissed even his own reasoning. He began to back out of the medical lab when he heard a commotion coming from the bay where they wheeled Sam’s body. A loud, high pitched alarm sounded causing many more members of the medical team to rush into the bay. Moments later, a nurse wheeled in a crash cart. Birkoff, feeling suddenly panicked, ran out of the medical unit. Even though he still did not trust everything that Sam told him, he knew he had to do something to help. If he was correct in implying what was wrong with him, there would be nothing that their medical team, as talented as they were, would be able to do to stop his rapid decline. There was only one person that could.

* * *

  
  
  
  


Walter rapped playfully at the patient room door. Upon hearing Nikita’s husky return allowing him entry, he pushed open the door and greeted the two operatives with a bright smile. Michael sat up in his bed trying to choke down a bland meal of runny potatoes, boiled chicken, peas, and applesauce. By the expression on his face, he would much rather return to receiving nutrition through his IV than have to fight through his selection. 

“How’s it going?” asked Walter, ignoring Michael’s frowning face. 

Nikita sat in the chair next to Michael’s bed looking somewhat amused. She was dressed in a white leather skirt that barely draped over her knees, cream and brown knit short-sleeve sweater, and brown calf-length boots. Her blonde hair was pulled up into a messy bun highlighting her cheerful blue eyes and warm, near radiant grin. Sitting beside Michael, the two looked like they attempted to match with Michael sitting in all white among white bed linens. His dark hair fell slightly unkempt over his shoulders. He needed a haircut, but none had been ordered for him yet. He also needed a bit of a shave as the stubble about his chin and upper lip had gone well past five o’clock.

“He’s still a little wobbly, but at least he is in the clear,” said Nikita.

“No brain damage?” asked Walter.

“Nope. Tests came back fine,” said Nikita with a smile. 

Michael tried more of the chicken, chewing it slowly. His resulting expression did not hide the fact that he did not like it any more than he did the potatoes. Walter leaned over slightly and eyed Michael’s plate. He straightened and gave a little chuckle. 

“I used to have a rat that I kept as a pet here once,” said Walter. “He didn’t like the food either.”

Michael looked at Walter, his eyes reading that he did not find the tale amusing or helpful. 

“So. When’s your release date?”

“They haven’t said yet,” answered Nikita. “They want to keep him one more night for observation. After that, the doctor will determine what will happen next.”

Walter looked to Nikita noticing she was doing all the talking while Michael sat grimacing over his food.

“If he’s in the clear, why are they keeping him?”

“He’s got a concussion,” Nikita answered. “They just want to make sure that there isn’t anything else serious that they might have missed. He needs to be awake to run more tests.”

Walter approached Michael slowly, looking at him warily. 

“How are you feeling, buddy?”

Michael finished his bite and looked up at Walter slowly. 

“Fine…” He answered in his usual semi-whispered tone.

Walter smiled, assured that Michael was indeed fine. He returned to Nikita. 

“Heard anything about when you’ll be sitting?”

Nikita shook her head. She and Michael exchanged very wary glances. Michael tried his applesauce next. Nikita looked down at her clasped hands, unconsciously wringing them. 

“Madeline said it would be soon. She wanted to do it today, but something happened with one of the telepaths. He collapsed. Birkoff had to bring him into medical to get checked out.”

“I heard,” said Walter. 

He searched quickly about the room and found a stool to sit on. He hunched down on it, propping his weight with his elbows on his knees. His long ponytail draped over his right shoulder, blending into the grey knitting of his sweater. 

“Birkoff said he had to help him to triage where he must’ve coded. He said doctors came from everywhere. They brought out the crash pads. It was a bit dramatic,” said Walter.

“How did Birkoff know something was wrong with Sam?” asked Nikita. 

“They were talking in the stairwell,” Walter answered. “Talking about how to save you.”

“Save me? From what?” Nikita stared at Walter with intense interest.

“From Delilah,” said Walter. 

He did not miss the quick look that passed over Michael’s face upon hearing her name. After having spoken with Birkoff shortly after Sam went into Medical, he understood exactly why Michael looked the way that he did. 

“Delilah may have it out for you. After you stopped her from getting at Michael, she wants to hurt you...Bad.”

“If it’s a fight she wants, it’s one that she’ll get,” said Nikita.

“Nikita,” Michael said with a warning in his tone. He looked at her, his light eyes impressing deeper meaning in his cautioning.

“Right now, I think they are preparing for the last group to be interviewed.”

“I thought you said that Sam was in triage,” said Michael.

“Well, he was,” said Walter. “As soon as his girlfriend heard where he was, she came down and did some hoodoo-voodoo on him and sprung him. One of the nurses said he was at the point of death, and then as soon as she arrived, he just popped right up like nothing happened and walked out of triage with her.”

“He has a brain tumor,” Nikita explained. “He said that she helps him to keep it from spreading. She keeps him alive.”

“He told you that?” asked Walter. 

“Yeah,” said Nikita. She looked at Michael, noticing he had not taken his eyes from her. “I wanted to find out what it was that he had done to you in your office the day I walked in on you two.”

Walter looked at Nikita and Michael, feeling as though he were interrupting a very special moment between the two operatives. He cleared his throat, announcing himself in the room once more as it seemed he had been forgotten.

“Did he tell you what happened?” asked Walter. 

“He told me he promised he wouldn’t,” said Nikita. “He said that he was helping Michael.”

“Helping, huh?” Walter did not look convinced. 

“What of Birkoff? What has he been saying in all of this? Is he still planning to go with them back to Four when this is all over?”

“I don’t know,” said Walter with a very tired sigh. “He hasn’t mentioned his intentions.”

“Maybe he’s not planning to go,” said Nikita. 

Walter shrugged. “Seems to me, he is already partly there. He is definitely not his usual self.”

“I don’t think any of us have been our usual selves lately,” said Nikita. 

“Whatever he decides…” said Walter.

“How do we keep Nikita protected?” asked Michael.

“Not sure,” said Walter. “Birkoff spoke to Sam, but I’m not sure what was decided in the end before he went to Medical.”

Michael looked at Nikita, his expression showing his worry. Nikita gave Michael a reassuring smile back. She turned to Walter.

“I’ll be fine. It’s obvious they aren’t going to allow me to skip this. I’ll be okay.”

“Well, whatever Birkoff said to the boy, I hope it swings things in our favor,” said Walter. He stood to leave. “Well, I just wanted to come by and see how you were doing. I’m glad to see you’re up and awake. Had a lot of us worried there.”

“I’m feeling better,” said Michael.

“Yeah, well. That’s good,” said Walter. He turned to Nikita. “You take care of yourself, Sugar. We’ll all be praying.”

Nikita stood and gave Walter a hug, rubbing his back. 

“Gosh, Walter, you make it sound like I’m going to walk the plank or something.”

“The way things have been lately, I wouldn’t put it past, you know what I mean.” Walter finished with a slight laugh, but Nikita could tell he was genuinely worried. 

He waved goodbye and left the room. Nikita looked back at Michael. Although he attempted to appear calm, once more, she could find his true feelings behind the mask he wore. He was always worried for her, with his concern only deepening with the latest news from Walter’s visit. She sat down on the edge of his bed and placed a hand on his knee. 

“I’ll be alright,” she said. 

“I know,” said Michael in a hushed tone. 

Nikita looked down at her watch. “It’s almost time for your therapy.”

Almost on cue, two male physical therapists entered the room pushing with them a wheelchair. Nikita stood up from the bed and moved out of the way so that the therapist could begin prepping Michael to leave the room. One moved the barely eaten tray of food out of the way while the other began maneuvering Michael out of the bed and into the chair. 

“Have a good time,” Nikita waved playfully as Michael left with the therapist. 

He cast her a look backward, telling her without words that he found her joke amusing. After he was gone, Nikita pulled in a deep breath and gathered her own personal effects to leave the room and return to her post at her terminal. As she went, she could not help but review Walter’s last words to her before he left. 

We’ll be praying…

It had been a long while since she had prayed. She had secretly said a few wishes and hopes into the air, directed towards whatever all-knowing and all-powerful entity that could control such things. She was never one to be very religious, or even spiritual for that matter. After the life she had lived up until that point, she had always believed fate was fate and it could be no more influenced than the shifting of the wind. However, from all of her experiences with Section, and all that she managed to survive despite, she could not fully deny something was looking over her shoulder. A guardian angel, perhaps. An ethereal being? Ever since meeting Jerome, there was very little in the world that Nikita doubted. If there could be those like Jerome and Delilah, then why would there not be an angel or even a god?

Nikita walked out onto the main floor heading towards the hall leading to her work station. Above her, Operations stood at the Perch peering down. 

Where there were an angel and a god, there had to also be demons and a satan. She wondered in which category did Operations and Madeline fit. By the way, they behaved, she could only guess that neither one would ever see Heaven should they perish. Of course, by that same measure of judgment…

Neither would she…

* * *

  
  
  
  


The steel doors to the White Room opened. Two Control Officers entered the room first followed by Nikita. They stood off to either side, revealing the grey metal chair bolted to the floor. The metal wrist clamps lay open like claws waiting to grip her. Nikita looked at the officers first before taking her seat. They did not move to secure her wrists. Instead, they stood with their arms behind them and their eyes focused forward. Madeline appeared in the doorway wearing her usual funeral black suit and displaying her normal painted smile. Behind her, Delilah and Sam walked in, dressed similarly to one another. They were both in grey with Delilah choosing to wear a cropped top and cargo pants and Sam dressed in a plain t-shirt, cargo pants, and heavy boots. His black hair was pulled back into a ponytail. Nikita glanced at him, noticing his expression as he passed her. He was looking at her with compassion which angered Delilah all the more. Her scowl was prominent and her eyes showed dark and menacing. 

“This is a general inquiry,” Madeline began. “Every operative must undergo a series of questions to determine if they are who we are searching for. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” said Nikita. 

“Good.” Madeline circled the chair, keeping her eyes on Nikita as she spoke. “We are well aware that this procedure may result in some unforeseeable side effects given your more recent adjustment. I have instructed them on which questions they should ask and responses they should look for in determining the truth. They are also aware of your condition and that you are, at least on some level, very experimental and therefore, should be handled with great care.”

Madeline stopped in front of Nikita. 

“How kind of you, Madeline,” said Nikita somewhat caustically. “Here I was expecting you to simply rip off my head and take a peek inside.”

Madeline returned with a severe grin. “Now, Nikita, you know we would never be so boorish as to do such a thing. Especially when it’s much cleaner to ask.”

Madeline looked up at Delilah and Sam. “Are we ready?”

Delilah nodded, then moved into place alongside Nikita’s chair. Sam took his place on the opposite side. Madeline signaled for the officers to leave the room as she followed them out. The door closed with a loud clanging noise as the locks fell into place. Nikita focused forward. 

“It’ll hurt worse if you fight it,” said Delilah. 

“She won’t fight it,” said Sam. “We have our instructions from Madeline.”

“Yes, well,” said Delilah with a malicious grin. She stroked the side of Nikita’s face. “No one said anything about taking a side tour. I mean, if there isn’t anything to hide, what’s the threat?”

Nikita slowly cut her eyes up to Delilah. The intensity in her blue gaze caught Delilah and made her pause a moment before smiling back devilishly. 

“You aren’t hiding anything, are you, Nikita?”

“Just get on with it,” said Nikita through clenched teeth. 

“Fine.”

Delilah pressed her fingertips into the side of Nikita’s head and reached for Sam. He did the same, grasping Delilah’s hand. They closed their eyes. Nikita was instantly thrust into a flashing reel of memories and visions she could not quite make out. She saw missions she had been on, operative faces she had known, places she had visited a time before. 

She saw Helmut Volker’s face smiling as he placed a simple gold circle on her ring finger. 

“Til death do us part,” he said as he caressed her hand. 

He had been so gentle with her, so careful with every move that he scarcely dared to touch her. It was as if he was afraid of somehow cracking her. She had allowed him to dote on her and make attempts in protecting her when she knew well that she was fine on her own. However, it was nice to know and feel that someone cared enough to want to show her that he cared and wanted to protect her from more than just a stray bullet or a vengeful operative. Helmut desired to protect her heart…

More visions passed by like photos on a projection reel. She saw Michael with Elena and their son. The look of both surprise and immediate regret passed in an instant over Michael’s face before he quickly covered it. He was smiling with a joy that she had never seen in him before. It was a real smile, not something he wiped on just to gain access to information. In the photographs Adam showed to her, he was smiling, sometimes laughing. He was silly and friendly, warm, and protective like a husband and father should be. 

I don't know what I'd do without Michael. He's such a good man…

Elena’s tender face emerged from the fog. Her dark, soulful eyes looked at the image of Michael with such love and adoration that it nearly broke Nikita’s heart. She did not know the Michael that Nikita knew. She did not know him as a ruthless killer. A grim reaper. She only knew him as her husband, and Adam only knew him as his father. Had they known the man that slept on the couch with a book lying on his chest, they would have run screaming from him. Had they known how easily he snuffed out lives, lied to countless women, and ordered men to their deaths, they would not have pulled him to them so closely. They would not have trusted anything he said or prepared for them. Had they known who Michael really was and why he was there, they would have done much better in protecting themselves from him. 

A door opened and Nikita saw herself lying in a hospital bed, tubes running out of her body, and a woman standing at her bedside weeping. The woman was dressed in a long overcoat, a dark grey two-piece suit, and sensible shoes. She looked nothing like the way Nikita remembered her. The drugs and long nights awake had taken away what little youth she tried to hang onto making her look far older than what she should have been. The woman said goodbye and kissed her sweetly on her forehead. Nikita wished that she could say something in return, but knew that she couldn’t. To protect her, she had to let her go believing that her daughter was dead.

A bright light drew her attention. Nikita began walking towards it, led by a feeling of foreboding and danger. Around her, things began to close in tightly, like she was walking down a long tunnel. At the end of the tunnel, she saw a door. She reached to open it when she suddenly felt herself being jerked backward. She spun around and came face to face with…

Herself!

Her sapphire eyes glared back at her. When she tried to reach and touch her, the other Nikita threw aside her hands and stepped into a punch aimed directly at her chest. The force of the hit stunned Nikita. She fell back against the door, then moved just in time to avoid being kicked. The opposing Nikita was dressed in all black from head to toe leaving only her blonde hair and blue eyes to show against the darkness. A black mask covered her mouth and nose leaving only the eyes showing. Her movements were rigid as she took a defensive boxing stance. Nikita readied herself, mimicking her pose. The two stood, staring at one another. 

“What’s behind this door?” Nikita asked. 

The dark Nikita did not answer. 

“Is there something I should know about behind here?”

The dark Nikita circled around Nikita, keeping her eyes trained on her. Nikita maneuvered herself so that she was not backed against the door which gave her no room for retreat. The dark Nikita also moved so that she did not stand with her back against the door, but rather stood off to the side of it, still guarding it, but not allowing it to create a barrier behind her. 

“Who are you?” Nikita asked. 

The dark Nikita stopped. She straightened and pulled her mask down revealing the rest of her face except her lips were painted black. She smiled and her smile was like Delilah’s. 

“I’m you,” she said in Delilah’s voice. 

She replaced the mask and turned to the door. She grasped the knob and began yanking at it to open. Nikita sprung forward and thrust a knee into the dark Nikita’s back, slamming her against the heavy door. Dark Nikita turned, her eyes now blazing a furious red-orange. She lunged at Nikita, trying to wrap her fingers about her throat. Nikita blocked her and pushed her off to the side using her momentum against her. Dark Nikita fell to the floor but was soon back up on her feet. She charged at Nikita with a flurry of kicks and punches. Nikita blocked and parried, keeping her distance enough to successfully land a front kick forcing Dark Nikita backward. She looked back at the door and raced towards it. She grabbed the knob and tried to pull it open. Suddenly, a forearm wrapped about her neck and pulled her away from the door. 

“You won’t be able to stop me this time, Nikita,” Dark Nikita hissed in Delilah’s voice. “I will know every one of your dirty little secrets. I’ll expose you for what you really are. They will finally know what kind of street rat they let into their organization. And when they find out, when they know what you really are, they will cancel you.”

Nikita twisted out of the Dark Nikita’s grip. She grasped her arm and flipped her over her hip, slamming her to the floor. Dark Nikita yowled in response. Nikita held the arm and pulled until she could hear a snap. Dark Nikita screamed in both fury and pain. Suddenly, she rose up from the floor and tossed Nikita off of her. Her body ignited into flames burning away the flesh that was once Nikita’s image. Underneath the burning bone, Delilah’s face emerged. Her eyes were hot flames as well, glowing hot at Nikita. She levitated a few feet from Nikita wielding power that she was unsure how she would defend against. 

“You can’t stop me,” Delilah said. “I will destroy you.”

“Let’s see you try.”

Delilah rushed forward knocking Nikita hard against the door. Fiery heat burned at her skin and lit her clothes on fire. Despite the flames, Nikita whipped around and backhanded Delilah, knocking her sideways. Stunned, Delilah stumbled. Nikita charged at her with a flurry of kicks. Delilah attempted to defend, but could not block all of Nikita’s rapid assault. She fell backward again, further away from the door with Nikita coming in fast to finish her off. Delilah attempted to use her powers to pause Nikita’s attack but found herself very weak. Nikita came upon her with a sharp knee to her temple, then a heavy punch to the crown of her head. 

“Sam!” Delilah called out. “Sam! Help me!”

Nikita continued to pummel the little girl into the floor. No longer encompassed in flames, she was now a trembling little girl with her hands covering her head to try and protect herself from Nikita’s onslaught. Behind her, the door opened. Sam stepped from it dressed in white and appearing like an angel. Nikita looked back at him and stood a moment in awe at his radiant beauty. His hazel eyes looked down at Delilah lying on the ground. He then looked at Nikita. 

At first, Nikita was almost relieved to see him standing in the doorway of the door she had been fighting to keep closed. However, after a second look, she realized he had emerged from the closed door. While she was fighting Delilah, he had gotten inside somehow. 

“Please,” he said in a quiet voice. “Leave her be.”

“You know I can’t do that, Sam,” said Nikita. “How did you get in there?”

“You let me in,” he said plainly. 

“How?”

“Through the only key, you have to this door. You gave it to me when you spoke to me in my room. You showed me how to use it to get in.”

Nikita remembered then the moment she sat down with Sam in his room. She had come to him to ask what he had done to Michael. He did not say directly what he had done, only that he helped him. She had not known what sort of help Sam offered, but she trusted that he spoke the truth to her. He was not hiding anything, not even his apparent attraction to her. 

“It’s time to go, Delilah,” said Sam.

His ethereal self moved towards Delilah as if floating. When he got close to her, he bent to lift her up. Nikita looked at Delilah, considering her broken demeanor. She saw Delilah look up from where she lay and a flash of gold sparked in her stare.

“Sam! Lookout!” Nikita called. 

In an instant, Delilah grasped Sam and held on to him. Flames exploded from Delilah engulfing both him and herself. Nikita started to run towards them, but the heat of the fire kept her back. 

“Run, Nikita!” Sam called from inside the inferno. “Go inside the door! Get to safety!”

Sam began to scream in anguish. Nikita tried once more to help him but heard him scream again for her to go inside the door. Turning, Nikita ran to the open door and dove inside. 

* * *

  
  
  


Nikita stood in Adrian’s living room, staring at the dead bodies of Carla and several other operatives all shot in the very center of their foreheads. There was no doubt that these were Michael’s kills as each placement of the bullet was both precise and oddly humane. It was likely none that lay dead knew that their life was gone even at the moment it was sifted away. In the doorway leading out to a garden area, Adrian stood holding a grouping of freshly picked flowers in her gloved hands. A sun hat sat perched atop her head making her appear all the more the Earth Mother. She smiled at Nikita. 

“How nice of you to come and visit,” said Adrian, very welcoming. 

Nikita looked around the room, noticing parts of the house were not in focus. She knew these were areas of the home that she did not remember as sharply as the scene in the living room. She took another cautious step inside the living area, watching Adrian as she took her flowers over to a dining table. She placed the flowers on the table and began arranging them by type.

“What are you doing here, Adrian?” asked Nikita. 

“Nothing to be alarmed about, dear.”

“Why are you here?” Nikita asked, circling around the couch. 

At the table where Adrian began placing the flowers in a vase, Carla sat limp against the chair back. Her dead eyes stared up into nothing.

“When you go back, Section will know you've been gone,” said Adrian. “So will Michael.”

“What do you mean?”

Adrian thoughtfully repositioned a white rose.

“He loves you...Of course…”

Adrian continued to speak, more in riddles than in actual conversation. The words were bits and pieces Nikita could remember from their discussions in her home. She allowed Adrian to speak while she walked about the room. Just outside the doors to the garden, Nikita saw the figure of a man standing with his back to her. She tried to draw closer, but could not seem to get to the glass lattice framed french doors. The distance between herself and the doors lengthened the more she tried to reach them. Finally, Nikita stopped and turned back to Adrian. 

“Who is that?”

Adrian paused, her eyes shifting towards the doors.

“Why, surely you recognize your own father, Nikita.”

Nikita looked again at the figure of the man standing just beyond the doors. Tears welled in her eyes as she fought back the urge to try again for the door. She knew she would never make it. She could try for a thousand years and walk just as many miles and would never reach the doors. 

“Who is my father?” asked Nikita. 

Adrian stopped arranging her flowers and turned to Nikita fully. Her deep brown eyes leveled with Nikita adding gravity to her words. 

“The question that you need to ask is not who is your father, but rather, what. Operations and Madeline are seeking a mole within Section. They know you are not it. You’re something else entirely.”

“What am I?”

Adrian returned to her flowers and began rearranging them again. 

“Hmmm. I've just been planting a tree peony. It probably won't survive these winds, but the flowers are so ..beautiful, I thought it worthwhile challenging the odds.”

“Maybe you should have a little more faith,” said Nikita.

“Yes. Yes, I suppose I should. After all, I had faith in you. I still do.”

* * *

  
  
  


“Call Medical!” shouted Madeline.

A Control Officer quickly made his way to a wall Communicator and paged for Medical. Madeline held Nikita’s shoulders and tried jostling her awake. Nikita remained slumped in the metal chair with a line of blood dripping from her nose. On the floor next to the chair lay Sam. He was unconscious and bleeding heavily from his nose, ears, and mouth. Opposite the chair, Birkoff and another Control Officer held Delilah as she struggled against them. One member of the interrogation team, a nerdy-looking woman with black-framed glasses, long skirts, and a mouse-brown bob haircut, came into the room. She pulled out a syringe and approached Delilah. She paused a moment as Delilah attempted to control her, but she could not hang on to her influence for very long. The female torturer advanced silently towards Delilah and injected her with the contents of the syringe. Members of the medical team arrived and quickly assessed the scene. 

“Take her to Medic Bay 11, him to Bay 9,” Madeline instructed. 

Within moments, both Nikita and Sam were lifted from where they lay in the White Room and taken away. Madeline looked over to Birkoff and saw him holding a now sedated Delilah in his arms. She considered saying something to him but decided against it. Instead, she turned and walked out of the room. She stopped briefly at the door and spoke to the remaining officers posted out front. 

“Take her to Containment.”

The guards nodded and went inside the room. Madeline walked back to the Observation room to meet Operations. He stood with his hands in his pockets and a very concerned look on his face. 

“Are we over with this?” Operations asked. 

“Yes,” said Madeline. “Nikita was the last operative to be interviewed.”

“Good! I will let George know that we have completed his inquiry and are awaiting further instructions.” 

Operations turned to Madeline fully. 

“I want a status update on the hour of Nikita’s condition.”

Madeline nodded. “It was very risky doing this. She may not pull through.”

Operations sighed heavily, considering Madeline’s statement. 

“Although the percentage of success was low for this, it was a necessary risk I was willing to gamble. If it does indeed turn out a bust, we will deal with the fallout accordingly. Either way, we have done as we were required. I don’t think George will care that we had to break a few eggs in the process.”

“If Nikita dies, it may bring down the morale of the team. It will be the same as it was when they thought her dead the first time. It may send Michael into an unrecoverable spiral,” said Madeline.

“We’ll deal with Michael the same as we always have. He’s recovered from one dead wife and the loss of his son. I don’t think a dead girlfriend will be of much difference.”

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


Walter found Nikita’s room and pushed the door open, not bothering to knock. He spun around, holding a bouquet of daffodils and stopped short seeing Michael standing bedside. His back was turned towards him, but he could tell he knew that he was there. Walter, finding an empty spot on a side table, already full of flowers and well-wishing cards from various other operatives, set his bouquet down. 

“Thank you,” said Michael quietly, speaking for Nikita. 

Walter studied Nikita, lying on the patient bed in much the same fashion as Michael had been only a few days ago. It was odd seeing the scene flipped with Nikita now lying where Michael once was and Michael standing by her side. He was still dressed in his medical white, his hair wild and his beard grown out a bit more. 

“How’s she doing so far?” asked Walter.

“She’s stable,” Michael answered.

Walter considered Michael’s answer, reading and filling in all the missing connotations of his words that were missing. He knew from long experience with Michael that the less he spoke about a situation, the better. If he ever went into too much explanation, it meant things were well beyond critical.

“Have they said any more about what’s going on?” Walter dared ask. 

“No.”

Walter relaxed a little. “Well, I guess no news is good news, right?”

Michael did not answer back. He stood erect a little, expelling a small sigh. Walter, reading the room and realizing quickly that he was intruding, turned to leave. 

“Well, I need to get back to my station,” he said announcing his departure. “I just came by to drop the flowers off and to wish Nikita good health.”

“She’ll appreciate that, I’m sure,” said Michael.

“Yeah...Well…” 

Walter turned to leave.

“Walter…”

Startled at hearing Michael call his name, he twisted around. 

“Yeah, buddy?”

“Do you know if Sam is here? On this floor?”

Walter furrowed his brow thinking it strange that Michael would be asking about the male telepath. He rubbed his head a little, being careful not to drag his green bandana off his head.

“I believe so,” he answered. “Things were a bit frenzied when they took Nikita down to Emergency. I kind of lost track of what happened with the boy. Why do you want to know about him?”

Michael looked over Nikita’s placid face. 

“He may know something that could help.”

“Well, good luck trying to get it out of him,” said Walter. “From what I heard, he’s in a coma too.”

Michael looked at Walter, considering him, before letting his eyes fall away. Taking this as his cue to exit, Walter nodded and began leaving the room. He turned back and paused just inside the door. 

“I’ll find out what room he is in and get back to you.”

“Thanks, Walter.”

Walter smiled, noting the gentleness in Michael’s voice. It was a welcome change from his usual stern and pointed expression. He appeared almost human at that moment, expressing more in his silence than he ever could vocally. Walter left the room thinking more about the future of Section if Nikita died and Birkoff decided to go back to Four with Delilah. The times he spent with each of them came in painful clumps of memories that wore down his heart. He had always warned others about getting too close to anyone operative. He had seen the dangers of getting too attached to faces that could easily be gone the very next hour. Although he tried to keep his distance, he could not help but find himself drawn to both Nikita and to Birkoff. No matter how much he tried not to, he cared deeply for them and often found himself risking life and limb to keep them safe from the many plots and manipulations Section often dealt them. 

For Birkoff, his care for him went far deeper than just general friendship. He viewed him as a kind of surrogate son almost. He was someone he did not take direct responsibility for but did feel a measure of obligation towards him. As for Nikita, she came to Section like a fawn being thrust onto a busy highway. Her innocence and impetuous nature drew him to her like a moth to a flame. The brightness of her light renewed in him a forgotten hope that made him smile again. Section was always so depressing and hopeless that it was nice to see someone who didn’t let the grim reality of their new lot dim their spirit. She was truly a Five Percent in every way. When Madeline subjected her to the Gelman Process to adjust her, her spirit, although dulled, still managed to shine through. After Michael worked to reverse the process, she seemed to regain some of the light Section attempted to steal away. He knew she would never be the same as she was. The adjustment prevented that from ever happening, he could still see in her the magic that made Nikita who she was and always would be. Now, with her lying motionless on the bed, monitors beeping all about her tracking her progress, and stuck in her dreams, he wondered if Section had finally done what they aimed to do all along. Had they finally accomplished what they planned? If they could not turn Nikita into the perfect automaton, they would simply destroy their creation entirely. All it took was a little teenage girl with raging hormones to take her down, indefinitely.

  
  


* * *

  
  


“He hasn’t had any visitors,” said the nurse. “You’ll be the only person that has come by. I would have thought his girlfriend would be by, but she hasn’t shown up either.”

“Not even Madeline or Operations?” asked Michael. 

“No. But, I highly doubt they would. At least, not until he wakes up...If he wakes up,” said the nurse. By the look on her face, she did not fully trust that the male patient lying in the room would ever regain consciousness. “Are you...some type of relation to him?”

Michael gave the nurse a wary look, realizing she really did not know who he was. He kept his smile hidden seeing a golden opportunity.

“I’m his partner,” Michael said.

“Partner?” The nurse looked both skeptical and puzzled.

“Yes,” said Michael, maintaining the straightest of expressions. He added a slight soft grin to sweeten the statement. 

The nurse blushed a little taking in Michael’s expression and his words.

“Could I see him? This...might be the last time I get to...talk to him.” Michael cast a glance towards the door, allowing his eyes to further imply his desire to go inside.

“Well, I’m really not supposed to--”

“Please.” Michael took the nurse’s hand into his and caressed it gently under his fingertips. “I might not ever get a chance again.”

The nurse looked first towards the door to Sam’s room, then back at Michael. His light eyes fell on her softly, silently imploring her to hear him and bend to his will. She looked at her hand, gripping him earnestly, and considering his question. 

“S’il vous plait.”

The nurse melted instantly. She smiled. “Only for a few minutes.”

Michael bent to kiss her hand. “Merci, jeune femme.”

The nurse giggled as she slowly pulled her hand from Michael to open the patient room door. Michael nodded his appreciation once more before entering the room. 

“Just...when you leave,” began the nurse.

Michael pressed a finger to his lips. “No one will ever know I was here.”

“No, I don’t mean that...I meant…”

“Please,” said Michael, looking slightly concerned. “My partner.”

The nurse, seeing Michael’s expression, pulled back, understanding. 

“Of course...Well...then...A few minutes.”

Michael smiled. The nurse returned a smaller grin and closed the door behind her. Michael turned towards Sam and approached him slowly. Although the young man was lying still, trapped in slumber, he was aware of him enough to know that he did not have to be awake to interact with him. On the contrary, with him in his current state, he could be considered much stronger than if he were awake. In this state, he was nothing but his brain again, which meant he was much more powerful. Michael took a moment, taking in a deep breath before moving to Sam’s bedside. 

Like Nikita, the medical team was treating him with much the same serums and fluids as they did for any comatose patient, only they also added a secondary machine used for sensory deprivation. There were several bags of chemicals hooked into his arms delivering saline, nutrients, vitamins, and chemicals for treating cancer cells. An area of his scalp was shaved where an incision was made. A thin tube ran from the incision into another bag hanging on a separate IV stand. A monitor reporting Sam’s vital status read that he was stable and that the chemotherapy treatment he was undergoing was only seventy-three percent complete. Michael touched Sam’s hand. He was cold almost as if he were already dead. The only thing that told Michael that he was not was the rhythmic beeping of Sam’s heart monitor. Michael gripped his hand more tightly and closed his eyes. 

Sam, Michael called from within. He was unsure if he could get through to him, or if he would even be heard. He just knew that he had to try.

Sam…

Suddenly, Michael found himself back in the White Room. He was still dressed in white but in a suit rather than a t-shirt and pajama pants. Seated in the metal chair was Sam, also dressed in white, appearing quite healthy. His deep brown eyes found Michael. He smiled. 

“Yes, Michael?”

“How are you feeling?”

“I’m dying,” Sam answered plainly. 

“I’m sorry,” said Michael. 

“Don’t be. It’s the freest I’ve felt in years. I’m actually glad it’s finally going to be over.”

“We could help you recover. It doesn’t have to end this way.”

“No,” said Sam. “It’s better that it does. If I recover, I won’t be of any use anymore.”

“I could get you transferred here,” said Michael. “Let me help you.”

“I’d be better off dead.”

Michael pulled in a breath, accepting Sam’s resolve. He placed his hands behind his back and started his usual circle around the chair. 

“Why did you want me to come to you?”

“I wasn’t exactly sure you would,” said Sam. He remained faced forward but put his hands in his lap. “I didn’t think you heard me.”

“You said you know something that could help Nikita recover.”

“Yes. It’s something that she told me.”

“What did she say?” Michael stood behind Sam, noticing there was still the shaved spot in his head. Instead of there being a tube, the spot was black as ink.

“She said...I thought I was going to break, but I didn’t. I thought of you...You’re the only one of us that has a soul...I don’t know what love is anymore, but the only part of me that is not dead...is you...It wasn’t all a lie...I don't know what she means by those words, but they seem very important to her. She hangs on to them. They are her lifeline.”

Michael nodded, remembering. The words he had spoken to Nikita while they were being tortured were words that he almost hated himself for speaking in the context in which they were delivered. Nikita had so wanted to believe him, and she did just enough for her to respond in the way he knew that she would. After their escape, her realization of why he said what he had said to her both broke her heart and his own. He knew she would never quite look at him the same way again, or trust anything he would tell her from then on. They were words he had wanted to tell her, but not in that way. And even though she continued to stand by him and offer her friendship to him, there was something behind the cool breeze of her eyes that told him she did not fully trust him. Not anymore. In the year that followed, he had done little to earn back her faith. Instead, he had further marred his reputation with her by piling on more lies and manipulations until he felt no closer to her heart than their cages had been in the industrial warehouse.

“There’s one other thing,” said Sam. 

The spot on Sam’s head began to grow, darkening the hair around it and pushing out the follicles onto the floor. 

“Nikita’s memories...They are beginning to unlock...Some of them are gone forever due to the procedure she underwent...Others may return sharply in the form of nightmares. She will need your help to sift through those memories...To make sense of them. She will continue to deteriorate as the virus progresses, but I’ve put some locks in place to help slow down the process. It may give you enough time to find a cure. The locks won’t stay in place forever, though. Like my tumor, it will spread and eat away everything in her until she is nothing.”

The black spot nearly encompassed Sam’s entire head, spreading down over his forehead and beginning to shadow his eyes. All of his dark hair was gone, creating a carpet of hair on the floor about the base of the chair. Despite this, Sam continued to look serene.

“She’s your responsibility now, Michael. I’ve done all that I can for her. I’ve traded my life for her. You may be asked to do the same.”

“Why?” 

Sam smiled warmly, ignoring the blackness that was now covering his face and turning his skin an onyx shade.

“Because she is good,” he answered plainly. “She came to me out of love for you and love for Seymour. She offered me the same kind of care and warmth that she holds for everyone. She made me feel loved. Even if it was for a brief moment. It was the most I had ever felt in my entire life...And it was beautiful…She. Is. Beautiful…”

Michael dropped his gaze a little, understanding Sam completely. 

“She’s the best of all of us,” said Michael quietly. 

“So are you…”

The nurse returned to the room, just as Michael was walking out. She smiled, seeing him again. 

“Thank you, again,” said Michael. 

“I hope your visit went well,” she said genuinely. 

Michael only nodded in response. 

“Maybe we’ll see you back again?” she asked with hopefulness in her expression. 

Michael regarded her kindly. “Probably not.”

Michael turned to leave. A buzzing noise began in Sam’s room. The nurse looked quickly at the door, then back to where Michael had been standing. Instead of Michael’s gentle face, there was only the blank hall. The buzzing noise continued inside of Sam’s room followed by an ear-piercing ringing signaling for emergency assistance. A crowd of nurses and medical assistants flooded the room. A light over the patient door glowed crimson red before beginning to flash. Michael looked around the corner he had ducked into and spied more doctors racing inside the room. He looked down, knowing it was of no use. Sam was gone, slipped away into the nothingness he knew he was destined for. However, instead of running from it, he welcomed it wholly, melting from Michael’s arms as he embraced him.

* * *

  
  
  


Operations and Madeline stood in the hall outside of Transport. Two Control Officers escorted Delilah as she marched towards Operations. She wore an outfit like the one Jerome wore when he first arrived at Section. The grey wool jacket and pants looked oddly oversized on her petite frame. She wore a sensory control device on her head, impeding her from fully using her mental abilities. Her dark brown eyes studied both Operations and Madeline keenly aware of the smirks they both held on their faces. 

“Can’t say that it’s been a pleasure to have you here,” said Operations removing all tact. “But...you have been helpful.”

Madeline, ignoring her partner’s statement, reached for Delilah’s hand to shake her hand. Delilah looked at Madeline’s hand, considering it, before accepting it to shake rather lightly. Gone was the confidence and bravado she first held when she arrived there. 

“I do wish you pleasant journeys back to Four. And...I’m very sorry for your loss,” said Madeline remaining diplomatic. 

“It was...not surprising,” said Delilah. “Sam was very sick. I’m just happy he was able to complete one last mission before he passed.”

Madeline nodded respectfully. Operations looked to the two women then pulled in a sigh. The doors to Transport opened revealing two older members of Section Four, both dressed in the same fashion as Delilah and looking with the same faraway look. Delilah turned and greeted them with only a simple nod. One escorted Delilah into the Clearance area and onto the elevator. The other stepped forward and handed Operations a disc. Silently, he turned and walked back to join the others inside the elevator. The doors closed. 

“What’s that?” asked Madeline, turning to Operations.

“He said it was a message from George,” Operations answered. “Apparently, our use of their interrogation process went better than he had hoped. It’s a thank you.”

Operations began out of the hall. Madeline fell in step with him, placing her hands behind her back. 

“A kudos from George. How rare.”

“Indeed. Would you like to watch it with me?”

Madeline gave a closed-lip smile. “I would but--”

“I insist,” said Operations. 

They stood in the center of the main floor. All about them, operatives continued with their normal activities. There was a general feeling of calm throughout the building. The heavy warmth that had permeated the air had lessened allowing a cooler, more comfortable atmosphere to regulate the building’s overall temperature. 

“I have a few reports to finish, but afterward…”

Operations smiled, reveling in his win. “We can enjoy it in the Tower. I’ll have Christopher prepare us something special.”

“The Tower,” Madeline repeated with meaning. “Shall I bring anything?”

“No,” said Operations. “Just yourself.”

Madeline nodded. Operations continued past her, heading for Command. Madeline walked in the opposite direction back towards her office with neither of them looking back at the other. 

  
  
  


* * *

Walter found Birkoff in the lounge at the drink machine angrily banging his fist against the plexiglass in hopes of shaking down a snack that had jammed between the glass and the dispensing coil. Walter, smiling at seeing his young friend back to his old habits, walked quickly over to him. 

“These things are like women,” said Walter. “You gotta let them know who is boss sometimes.”

Birkoff watched as Walter took both hands and forcefully shook the snack free from its position. The bag of doughnut holes fell into the dispensing trough. He bent down and retrieved his package. 

“Thanks,” said Birkoff. 

“Hey, no problem. Glad to help.” Walter turned away to head towards the coffee machines. 

“Don’t you wanna know what happened? Why I stayed?” asked Birkoff. 

“I figured you have your reasons,” said Walter. 

“It was a lie, you know. What she told me. It was going to be nothing like she said it would be.”

Walter began preparing a single brew of hazelnut cappuccino. He selected the strength of the brew and stuck a mug underneath the fountain.

“I suppose it wouldn’t be,” he said. 

“It would have been a mistake to go with her…Thanks.”

“For what?” Walter rummaged around a drawer searching for a packet of non-dairy creamer.

Birkoff drew closer to Walter. He opened his packet of doughnuts but did not eat them just yet. Instead, his fingers toyed with the wrapper. 

“For not letting me make a big mistake like that. I would have really regretted it.”

“Yeah, well,” Walter began. He looked over at Birkoff. “Sometimes you kids trail off on roads you shouldn’t be driving. Someone’s gotta get you on track.”

Birkoff laughed a little to himself. “I went a little off the deep end about a girl, didn’t I.”

“Way off,” said Walter. His cappuccino finished brewing. He left it under the fountain a while longer, letting the final drips fall into the mug. 

“Isn’t it funny how we’ll let a few kind words and a pair of pretty eyes turn our heads quicker than a neck snap.” 

“You let your head get turned,” Walter corrected. 

Birkoff popped a hole in his mouth. He nudged Walter.

“C’mon old man, don’t act like you haven’t done a few hair-brained things before all because you liked a girl.”

“Sure, but I never tried to turn into a battery for one.”

Birkoff nodded. “Touche’.”

Walter cut a glance over at Birkoff before pulling his mug from the brewer. He took a sip of the steaming hot liquid then turned to lean back against the counter. 

“I don’t blame you for wanting something different. This place can get pretty monotonous.”

Birkoff popped in another hole. 

“It wasn’t that. It’s just...I don’t know. Ever since they did whatever they did to Nikita, things just haven’t felt the same. I mean, they’ve increased everyone’s frequency out in the field. They’ve got you under tight watch. Me too, for that matter. Madeline and Operations, even though they look like they are cool right now, are definitely putting on for some reason. It’s like they know they’re being watched too.”

“Yeah they are,” said Walter. “George has had them on his radar for a while now. It doesn’t surprise me at all that they are walking around here like everything is sweet as candy. They know they are one misstep away from being canceled..or worse.”

“What’s worse than being canceled?” asked Birkoff.

Walter shrugged his shoulders. “Lots of things, if you ask me. There are plenty of things to be afraid of being alive than there are being dead.”

“Yeah I know,” Birkoff mused. “Death is easy. You don’t have to do anything. It’s life you have to face.”

Walter looked at Birkoff, noticing his words and recognizing them not being his own. 

“Machiavelli?” Walter guessed. 

“No, Nikita,” said Birkoff. “She was trying to get me to realize my own mortality. Got me to overcome some issues I was having during a mission.”

Walter nodded, understanding. “ I won’t say the ole gal is anything like your resident Gandhi, but every now and then she will spit out a few gems.”

“How is she, by the way?” asked Birkoff. 

“Improving. She hasn’t awakened yet, but the nurses and doctors are optimistic. They say she is very strong.”

Birkoff nodded. “What about Michael? Where is he?”

“Still in rehab. He will be transferred to conditioning once he has been cleared to leave Medical.”

“It’s been a while since the two of them have been in Medical together. The last time they were, they were both tortured.”

“Can’t say this isn’t the same thing.”

“Well, you know what they say--” Birkoff began.

“Those who get tortured together, stay together,” Walter interrupted with a broad grin. 

“Hey! Don’t talk about my girlfriend like that,” said Birkoff feigning hurt feelings. 

“So...We’re back on Nikita again?” Walter asked warily. 

“I know she’s with Michael, but...She’s still my fantasy dream girl.”

Walter rolled his eyes. “Buddy, she’s everybody's dream girl.”

“Yeah, but she was mine first,” Birkoff countered. 

The two began out of the lounge walking side by side one another.

“We’ll see who she chooses in the end,” Walter challenged. 

“Old lion,” said Birkoff.

“Versus young buck,” said Walter. 

“Well let the games begin,” Birkoff smiled. 

\--The End--

  
  


* * *

  
  


Epilogue...

  
  


Nikita walked into her apartment and noticed immediately that it was different. She turned to Michael, expecting an explanation. 

“I had an agency come and clean it for you. There was a weird smell in here.” 

Nikita stifled a laugh as she walked into her apartment and set her keys down on the counter. Behind her, Michael closed the door and stood with his hands clasped in front of him. Nikita meandered around the familiar walls and touched the furniture she had missed for nearly seven weeks. There were missions that had called her away for just as long, but for some reason, being back in her apartment felt different. It wasn’t that she felt at home there, or that everything around her was familiar again. There was something else in the air that made her feel...settled. As if things were finally in their place, including…

“Why are you standing at the door?” asked Nikita, focusing on Michael. 

She noticed he was watching her roaming about, appearing as though he were merely observing and not really standing there in person. He took a step forward, injecting himself into her world once more.

“How are you feeling?” he asked. 

“Fine,” answered Nikita. She followed with a small grin. 

She went over towards her radio and switched it on. Music began playing, a slow, easy jazz tune that filtered throughout the apartment adding to its general warmth and coziness. She threw a glance over at Michael and held out her hands to him. Michael stood paused at the edge of the counter, looking somewhat puzzled. 

“I can’t stay long,” Michael said.

Nikita gave a slight shrug in response. She continued her slow advance towards him. 

“Just one dance?” Nikita made a gesture holding her fingers in a pose to further describe how minute her request was. “Just a little bit.”

Michael, eyeing Nikita carefully, walked towards her. He took her hands into his and pulled her close to him. His eyes studied her a moment, taking in her light and fragrant scent wafting from the gentle blonde tresses of her hair. Her warm body felt comforting against him. He could not help pulling her even closer to him so that his head nearly rested on her shoulder. The two danced slowly, shuffling in small circles, their feet barely moving as their bodies swayed to the sleepy beat of the music. 

“Who is this?” Michael asked, not recognizing the voice singing. 

“Ella Fitzgerald,” said Nikita. “The Nearness of You.”

“It’s nice...I like it,” said Michael softly into her ear. 

Nikita listened to the music, allowing it to gently persuade her into visions and beautiful images. Once more, Michael hugged her tightly. She felt his lips softly press at a spot just under her earlobe as his fingers began to play at her hand. She drew her hand away from him and wrapped her arms about his neck. He, in turn, hugged her, wrapping both arms around her waist. She pulled back a little, catching the light of his eyes. For a moment, they stared at each other, no longer dancing, but swaying gently as if in a breeze. Slowly, he drew in closer to her, letting their lips barely touch. 

“Thank you,” Nikita whispered against his lips. 

“For what?” he asked, his eyes closing a little. 

“For being there. You’re always there...when I need you.”

“I won’t leave you, Nikita...I’m with you...always…”

Nikita smiled. Michael moved in and pressed his lips to her. As the music quietly played out into another slow ballad, they kissed gently, holding one another, feeling freer than they could remember being. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


  
  
  


  
  



End file.
